


Orange Sunset

by Dromaeosauridae



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, British English, Butterfly Effect, Byleth met Leonie at the same time as Jeralt AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Female My Unit | Byleth, Gen, If I had to describe how I have characterised Byleth in this in one word it would be 'himbo', Mostly from Byleth's PoV, OCs for Jeralt's troop, Original Fifth Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), POV Third Person, Pre-canon shown in flashbacks, There's a lot of swearing because I'm uncultured and just a little bit stupid, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dromaeosauridae/pseuds/Dromaeosauridae
Summary: When Byleth accompanied her father and troop to isolated Sauin Village for a job disposing of poachers, she never expected how the consequences of meeting, befriending and saving a girl with hair the colour of the setting sun could alter her fate.(A canon divergence story detailing a Byleth who met Leonie in Imperial Year 1171, and the increasing unravelling of canon across the Academy and War Phases that occurs as a consequence of the events that happened in Sauin Village.)
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth & Leonie Pinelli, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35





	1. An Encounter Lacking in Chance

**_20th Day, Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1180_ **

_“Greetings, Byleth! I see you’ve come to visit me again tonight!” Byleth opened her eyes to the sight of a familiar stone chamber, with a young woman with a shock of green hair and pointed ears leaning on a crude basalt throne in front of her kicking her legs back and forth, out of boredom, frustration or nervousness, Byleth did not yet know._

_“Hi, Sothis,” she responded, and Sothis’ face split into a grin as she slouched back to drape herself over one arm of her seat and kicked her legs over the other. “You comfy?” Byleth couldn’t help but ask. Sothis twiddled with her hair and hummed, considering her response before replying._

_“Could be comfier, but there’s only so comfortable you can be on a slab of rock. Isn’t this part of your consciousness? Could you imagine me a pillow?”_

_Byleth imagined a pillow underneath Sothis’ head and a blanket over her legs, staring at the throne for as long as she could bear without blinking. Nothing happened. Even before these particular dreams that she had been having the last eight years, she never really was capable of lucid dreaming; if she was feeling a mite more self-deprecating, she would chalk that to a lack of imagination, but she knew that if that was wholly true she’d be long dead in her line of work._

_“It’s the thought that counts. Literally,” Sothis sighed upon watching Byleth struggle, before the smile returned to her face. “It’ll be the first time we’ve seen your sister in a while tomorrow, won’t it? Are you looking forward to it?”_

_“She’s not my sister.” Byleth refused to answer that one in words, knowing Sothis’ nature would lead to at least five minutes of ribbing if she did indeed admit she missed her best friend._

_“Oh, you do miss her, I’ve known you too long to be fooled by that blank face of yours!” Damn, didn't work, Byleth thought, anticipating the inevitable light-hearted ribbing from her errant head-mate. _

_“…Do not,” Byleth pouted._

_“Do too.” Sothis looked smug before the walls of the chamber rumbled, as if an explosive charge had gone off in the rafters above. “It appears that we’re going to have to cut this one short,” she stated grumpily, biting the nail of her thumb. “Do people not understand the importance of a good night’s sleep?”_

_“No one understands the importance of sleep more than you,” Byleth said in complete seriousness, leading to a squeal from Sothis as chunks of the ceiling started raining down around them._

_“Yes, yes, I’m aware I sleep a lot! Now can you please wake up before we both get crushed by the roof!? This might not be real life, but getting crushed by stones still hurts! Shoo!”_

Byleth awoke abruptly to the sound of yelling and the force of a large body forcing their way into her tent, orange coat visible even in the weak pre-dawn light. It wasn’t the first time she had been woken this way, nor, she suspected, would it be the last. “Dad,” she asked, although her tone lacked inflection.

Jeralt lent her a hand to pull her from where she laid in her cot and let her grab and begin lacing her boots wordlessly, tapping his lance on the floor in pace to the mercenaries scurrying about on the other side of the canvas. Byleth had long since learnt that sleeping in nightclothes was a luxury that people like her weren’t allowed to have, so had, as per usual, slept in her clothes, armour and all, smell be damned.

“There’s some noble brats from Garreg Mach who’ve clearly bitten off more than they can chew with bandits and they’ve asked us for help,” he started explaining, glancing through the entranceway as he idly fiddled with his braid. “I see no reason to sit here and watch some kids die and let the village burn down with them, so once you’re kitted up I want you to rendezvous with them in the camp and get them out of danger. They’re not very hard to miss; one’s a gangly blonde kid wearing blue, one’s a cheeky-looking fellow wearing yellow and the last is a short white haired lass wearing red.”

They’d been in Remire Village for less than 24 hours and shit had already hit the fan. _Typical_ , Byleth thought, the chastising voice of Sothis in the pit of her brain agreeing with her, yawning as it was prone to do. “Garreg Mach, huh? What a coincidence,” she noted, as if it was as unimportant as the colour of the bootlaces she was tying into a sloppy bow.

Jeralt, harrumphed, mildly amused. “One I’d rather not be having. You ready?”

“Yes,” Byleth replied, grabbing her well-loved steel sword from underneath her pillow, giving it a few practice swings before nodding and following her father out of her tent. 

“You’re going to give yourself an accidental haircut with that thing on your bed one day, I swear,” Jeralt joked, before getting serious again. “Straight ahead, kid.”

And there they were, clearly having some sort of heated debate which quickly fizzled out as Byleth and Jeralt approached, eyes snapping from each other to them, the newcomers. There was an uncomfortable silence as Byleth assessed what she was meant to be protecting with her usual cold gaze.

An axe, a bow and a lance. At least they were armed. She nodded her assent to her father, who introduced her: “alright kids, this is my daughter, Byleth. She’ll be making sure you’ll all be getting out of here in one piece.”

“Hello,” the pale, short white-haired girl replied, curt and calculating. The tan fox-faced boy simply smiled and winked with his striking green eyes, clearly the most relaxed of the trio. The blonde gangly boy was open mouthed and only responded with a sharp elbow to the ribs by the girl.

“Oh, ah, yes! Hello!” he blurted, startled and blushing.

“…Hello,” Byleth said, before her eyes drifted back to the weapons they carried. “Can you use those?” she asked, not specifying what she was referring to.

This time the yellow boy replied: “yup, and I’d say we were _pret-ty_ good with them, you know. When we’re not being chased by a huge group of bandits.” _Cocky kid,_ the voice in her head commented, _but a clever one if he decided to run for it._

“They were only chasing us because _you_ ran, Claude,” the red girl objected, flipping her hair behind her back with a gloved hand. Yellow raised an eyebrow, hand on hip, fake smile still plastered on his face.

“Yet _you_ decided to follow _me!”_ Oh, this was getting her nowhere, the blue boy looking from her to Jeralt to red girl to yellow boy as his companions wound themselves up for another good old-fashioned slanging match, trying to get some words of camaraderie in edgeways. (“This is not the time for arguments, Edelgard, Claude, _please!_ ”)

“Shut up if you want to survive,” Byleth said, with no apparent malice, which made the request more terrifying. Blue and red both clammed up. Jeralt put his head into his hands and walked off, clearly having seen enough.

“Yes ma’am,” the yellow boy replied, clearly not chastened. _Cheeky brat._

“Yellow, you’re back support, try and keep out of range of anyone running at us. Red, you seem sturdy, I’d like you to make sure no-one gets to yellow. Blue, you’re with me in the front, use the reach of that lance to keep anyone with more muscles than brains off me whilst I vanguard. Do you understand?”

Red bristled: “my name isn’t-“

“I don’t care what your name is right now,” Byleth cut her off, swinging her sword in a light figure of eight as she heard the familiar sounds of battle approach. “When we’re finished, you can tell me your name, your life story, whatever. But now…” she raised the sword in her hand to point at a rapidly approaching bandit, ready for a scrap, “I think we have more important things to be considering.”

And with that, Byleth sprung into action, weaving through the group and cutting the bandit down with one swift diagonal slash across the torso, shoulder to hip. Blue grimaced, averting his eyes and gripping his lance tighter.

Yellow let out a whistle, but Byleth was already long gone, sprinting towards another bandit, blood dripping from the tip of her weapon. “Oi, no, hey!” the bandit blustered before the blade sliced straight through his neck viciously, splattering hot blood onto the grass underneath them.

“Remind me never to get on her bad side,” yellow muttered underneath his breath.

“I think you already are, Claude,” red replied serenely.

“Move!” Byleth yelled, irritation, for once, making it into her voice and the trio flinched, chastised, before running after her.

* * *

_For a bunch of gobby teenagers they can at least put up a fight_ , Byleth thought as another of yellow’s arrows shot true, impaling their victim through the skull with only the faint twang of a bowstring for warning. For as prim and proper as blue acted, like some sort of prince charming from a Faerghus fairytale, Byleth couldn’t help but be impressed and highly surprised when, upon being disarmed and cornered by an axe-wielder, the kid lifted the assailant above his head with alarming strength for someone of his build and threw them into a tree like a sack of potatoes, mumbling an apology as he retrieved his lance. Red was stopping all attackers from making it to both yellow (who’d concealed himself somewhere in the undergrowth) as well as Byleth and blue, slamming her axe into one bandit so hard she managed to bisect them, bloodied halves sliding limply down the gleaming metal of her axe.

 _This is going too well_ , Sothis noted, and Byleth was inclined to agree. “Did you really run from these weaklings?” she asked. “You didn’t need me here to do this.”

“It’s certainly smoother with you here, though,” blue said, rejoining Byleth. “But, alas, you’re right. Their leader is the one we were concerned about, on top of the numbers. I haven’t seen him yet. He’s a rather large brute.”

“I’ll cut him down to size,” Byleth stated, unconsciously raising her sword up to punctuate her point and was surprised when blue guffawed quietly into his hand.

“I do not doubt it.”

“Yo! Dimitri, Byleth!” a disembodied voice called from somewhere, “up ahead!”

 _What a brute!_ Sothis exclaimed, echoing what blue had said. A balding, ogre faced man, easily more than six and a half feet tall, came stomping towards them, just short of frothing at the mouth in anger, dragging a huge, poorly maintained axe across the floor one-handed with an edge so chipped and rusted it bordered on serrated. The arm that wasn’t dragging the axe had an arrow sunken deeply into the bicep - clearly yellow had spotted the danger coming ahead of the rest of them. Red, correctly anticipating trouble, bounced back from her forward position to stand between the newcomer and her party, axe raised defensively.

“This was supposed to be an easy mark, just kill some noble brats and get paid more than I could ever think of, yet the _fuckin’ Ashen Demon’s_ here!” the man howled, glaring Byleth down. “I’ve been had!” he complained, before sprouting a crooked, malicious grin filled with yellowed teeth: “but I can at least take one of you down!”

The hairs on Byleth’s neck raised. “Red, move!” she screamed, as the outlaw swung his axe with an astonishing amount of strength, faster than an inexperienced noble girl could ever hope to stop. Byleth watched in muffled horror as the serrated edge of the weapon bit deeply into the neck of one of the people she was supposed to be protecting, a sick frothy gargle bubbling from their mouth. The edge of the axe was too blunt to decapitate her in one blow but it came close, so close, windpipe clearly visible and aorta gushing stinking blood, thin strings of sinew the only thing stopping the head from simply falling off as red smashed into the floor, dead, flurries of chopped white hair falling over her corpse.

And then she wasn’t dead, standing in front of Byleth once more.

Byleth blinked, dazed, as she saw the baring of yellowed, disgusting teeth, skin prickling with deja-vu, the muscles of an axe arm starting to twitch.

Without thinking, Byleth threw her sword like a javelin, aiming for the throat. Her aim was not quite true, however, and the sword instead sunk itself into the pectoral of the attacker’s axe wielding side and pierced through his back, causing him to screech in pain and crumple to his knees, axe abandoned as he pressed his clammy hands to the puncture. “You _bitch!_ ”

Byleth walked past an open mouthed red to the downed ruffian, no expression on her face as she stood before him. “That’s my favourite sword,” she stated, eyes staring at the hilt.

“So?!?” the ruffian spat, bravado wavering.

“I’d like it back.”

Blue’s face paled as Byleth shoved her boot into the stomach of the bandit, lunging for the handle of her weapon and pulling as she used her foot to push the outlaw off of her weapon, causing him to shriek in pain as the blade was unceremoniously yanked from his chest, leaving him whimpering and bleeding out on the floor; he wouldn’t have long to live after that. _“Goddess,”_ blue whispered under his breath as Byleth returned to the group, grisly sword leant on her shoulder.

“Is everyone okay?”

“Y-yes,” red replied, eyes still plastered to the ruffian that nearly killed her, who had now become very still. “Looks like that blow made the rest of the bandits reconsider their chances; we have you to thank for that.” Her voice was shaky.

Byleth became aware of the sudden silence of the battlefield. _Looks the they fled_ , Sothis commented. _Cowards!_ The group turned to the sound of rustling, suddenly deafening in the sudden silence as yellow shimmied down the tree he was perched in, jogging over to Byleth. “As far as I can tell, they’ve all turned tail except for grumpy there, boss,” he reported, a sly grin on his face that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “I have to say, that was a good shot; that nearly ended up with red here without a head!”

“Oh, don’t you start with that nickname too, Reigan!” red hissed, body still trembling with adrenaline.

Byleth hummed, lowering her sword from her shoulders and re-sheathing it, congealed blood accumulating at the aperture as the blade was scraped clean during the movement. “I missed, actually. I was aiming for the throat.”

“Means to an end, isn’t it? He’ll be dead before you know it with a wound like that,” yellow countered, twirling an arrow idly in his hands, before focusing his attention to the still pale blue. “Dimitri, you okay? Looking a little green around the gills there.”

“I… I apologise. That took me by surprise,” blue mumbled, eyes downturned, avoiding looking Byleth in the face. It didn’t matter to Byleth. She was used to alienating others. Leaving blue to stew, she recalled her father’s instructions; there was no need to linger here.

“Are you ready to move on? I’ll escort you back to-“ Byleth was cut off by a booming, emotional voice.

**_“Edelgard, Dimitri, Claude?! Where are you?! Are you alright?!”_ **

Red groaned, whereas blue noticeably perked up as a large, middle-aged knight sporting a brown handlebar moustache and silver armour came bounding onto the battlefield, yelled incoherently in delight upon spotting the group and began running towards them, a small platoon trailing behind him. From Byleth’s rear came the familiar noise of a horse clopping their way closer and Jeralt’s cool voice: “Hey, you’re all in one piece! Looks like the Knights of Seiros are here for you.” He smiled as the running knight’s shoes screeched as he suddenly stopped in front of him, panting wildly.

“Oh, I’m so glad that you’re alright!” he blustered, dewy eyed, pulling yellow into a bearhug that he clearly wasn’t a willing participant in. “I don’t know what I would have told the Archbishop if you had been harmed…” Letting yellow go (who rapidly shuffled away out of grabbing distance), he turned to Byleth and Jeralt, somehow perking up more upon seeing Jeralt in particular. “Captain Jeralt?! Is that you?!”

Jeralt grimaced slightly, clearly putting some equation together in his head and solving it. “Hi, Alois. It’s been a while,” he winced.

“A while? It’s been twenty years! Where have you been?” For a middle-aged man at bumfuck in the morning, Alois had excessive amounts of energy. Byleth felt she couldn't keep looking at him for fear of her eyes burning out from his sheer cheer.

“Oh, you know, here and there. Everywhere in Fódlan, really. This is my daughter Byleth, by the way.”

“Hello,” Byleth nodded, not sure how to deal with a man who was the polar opposite of her. She’d never been good with the heart on their sleeves type.

“Byleth? Oh, goddess, I haven’t seen you since you were a baby, haven’t you grown up well!” Byleth found herself dragged into the second unwilling hug to have happened in the last two minutes. “You inherited your father’s strength, I see! And his height, aren’t you a tall one! Oh, but your face, that’s your mother all over!”

“Help,” Byleth pleaded her father, who laughed with amusement. _Bastard_. However, he did tap Alois’ shoulder to make him let go.

“She’s not a people person I’m afraid, Alois.”

“Ah! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But, if you’re here… Does that mean…? Are you the people the Archbishop were expecting?”

“Yeah, that’s us. My protegée’s enrolled into this year at Garreg Mach, so I’d figured we’d come and visit her, give her our congratulations. Messaged ahead of time to make sure we weren’t being a nuisance.”

“Hmm? Only visiting?” Alois looked pensive, hand on his chin. “The Archbishop informed me that whomever was coming was doing so to join the Knights of Seiros. And there was nothing about you bringing your daughter; if your protegée’s enrolled, why not Byleth?”

“Oh, for-“ Jeralt groused, unimpressed, before sighing resignedly, “well, any misunderstandings can be fixed when we’re not in a field in the dark.”

“Right on with that! Me and the knights will help you pack down and we’ll be off, shall we?”

“I think my lot should be fine without the help, but if you want to pitch in I’m sure you’ll be appreciated.” As if on cue, several of the troop materialised, tent pegs and canvas in hand, nodding at Jeralt. Alois looked about ready to burst in delight.

“Your lot? Oh, you’ve got _so_ much to tell me when we get back to Garreg Mach, Jeralt!”

With that, Jeralt, Alois and the knights began to walk (or canter, in Jeralt’s case) back to the camp, Byleth and the young nobles trailing behind. Before long, yellow jumped in front of Byleth, that same familiar cheeky grin on his face.

“So… Since we all survived, do we get to introduce ourselves? Tell us your life story?”

Byleth recalled what she had said to them before the battle’s start and realised she’d been cornered. “I guess,” she replied, without enthusiasm.

“Brill! I’m Claude. Claude von Riegan. I’m… from the Leicester Alliance,” he said with a wink.

“' _From the Leicester Alliance'_ , he says. That’s very you, Claude. I’m Edelgard von Hresvelg, crown princess of the Adrestrian Empire,” the newly introduced Edelgard chafed, eliciting a laugh from Claude.

“Oh, if we’re giving titles, princess, I guess I’m the heir apparent of the Leicester Alliance. I’ll respond to ‘almighty prince of the east’ too.”

“I’ll call you that when I’m dead,” Byleth responded without thinking.

“So cold!” Claude wrapped his arms around his torso as if banishing a chill air from his clothes as the third member of their ragtag group piped up, playing with his fringe nervously as he spoke.

“Um, ah, I’m Dimitri. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. I apologise for the conduct of my companions. We’re very appreciative that you came to our aid.”

“He’s the crown prince of the Kingdom of Faerghus, by the way,” Claude added.

“I can believe that,” Byleth noted, the image of a fairytale prince in the back of her mind still. Dimitri looked sheepish upon hearing that assessment.

“Believe…? You really aren’t bothered that you’re talking to the next three leaders of Fódlan, are you?” Edelgard said, half in disbelief at Blyeth's blasé attitude.

“Should I be? I’m not very good at curtseying.”

“No, no, I think I like you just fine like this. It’s refreshing,” Edelgard conceded.

“I kinda want to see that curtsey,” Claude stated.

“No, trust me, you don’t.”

“So who’s the person that you’re visiting? We haven’t been at Garreg Mach that long, but I think I should recognise a name, especially if they’re as striking as you,” Dimitri interjected, seeing the conversation drift in an unwanted direction and redirecting it back to a more appropriate course.

The compliment went straight over Byleth’s head, as many things like that did. “Her name’s Leonie. Orange hair, average height, cheapskate.” Byleth put her hand at her chin to signify where Leonie’s head went up to on her (a fact that Leonie was still deeply unhappy about, especially since once upon a time Byleth was shorter than her).

“Oh, I know Leonie. She’s in my house,” Claude said. “She’s a laugh, although she reckons that any teaching she’ll get won’t be as good as anything the ‘captain’ could give her. I’d assume that’s your dad?”

“Yeah,” Byleth confirmed.

“So, how come you’re not enrolling yourself if Leonie has? I’m assuming you and her are about the same age, correct?” Edelgard asked. Byleth shrugged.

“I’ve got a job that I’m good at and I’m happy as I am, so I’m not really interested.” _More like the idea of formal education makes you want to break out in a rash_ , Sothis suggested dryly.

“But think of all of the nobles you could have at your beck and call, the connections! The jobs you could score!” Claude suggested conspiratorially, eyebrows waggling.

“As my dad said, I’m not a people person, more of a sword person.” Byleth could easily see herself banned from an area for saying the wrong thing to a highly strung Alliance noble brat and they, as far as she knew, were common finds at Garreg Mach. She’d been banned from enough places already, no thanks to her ‘ _no I don’t have a drinking problem put it on the tab_ ’ father.

“You’re no fun, you know that?” Claude fake-pouted, trying to elicit a reaction.

“I’m aware,” Byleth said with finality, starting to feel awkward with all this attention on her.

“Cold! You really are cold!” Claude made a show of pretending to shiver, making an act of blowing his nose.

“Can you kids get a move on?” Jeralt shouted from his horse. “I haven’t had breakfast yet and the quicker we get off and where we need to be the quicker we can eat.”

* * *

Claude kept his gaze on the back of the tall, powerful woman that had saved them, her long, messy blue hair making her appear almost wild, untameable. It reminded him of home, in a way, his mother’s visage in the back of his mind.

He was sure he had watched Edelgard die. But she was still here, still breathing. He was glad of that, for certain, for as little time that he had really known the other house leader he had always appreciated a ready wit, even if she was a bit haughty. No-one was perfect, and no-one was less perfect than himself, so he wasn’t one to judge. Plus Dimitri was already depressed enough without a dead friend on his plate and he wasn’t hiding it well enough to conceal that fact from Claude, whose life had depended on sniffing out weaknesses and flaws.

Somehow, Byleth had changed the whims of fate. Not bad for an antisocial twenty-something. Claude needed her. How to get her on his side, he wasn’t sure, not yet, but scheming was in his nature. He’d work it out.

* * *

Edelgard couldn’t stop pawing at her neck to make sure that it was still there, sweat dripping unbidden down her brow.

She’d nearly been beheaded by the man her other side had hired to maim Claude and Dimitri, something that would have made her plans, her _vision_ significantly easier between the lack of Dimitri’s sentimentality and Claude’s trend to always play a game three to five steps ahead. Talk about a miscalculation on her part. It really was as people say; you want a job done right, do it yourself. Another, quieter voice suggested it more a factor of karma, a voice she had to gag before it said anything else.

Reigan she had no issues with taking out, the sardonic little shit, but Dimitri was another story, a memory of a boy holding a dagger that now sat hidden in her boot. Her ambitions came first, however. For that end, she wanted the woman who had literally saved her neck.

* * *

Dimitri was, and had been for a very long time, between a wall and a hard place, both telling him how awful of a person he was without cease. He loved fighting, loved the thrill that coursed through his veins, making him feel alive. Yet bloodshed, which he loathed, was never far from conflict, as Byleth had quickly proven to him. He knew one of his many flaws was feeling too much for too many, that compassion in spades in what should be an impartial leader could lead to more suffering later on. He was damaged goods, a broken doll running on clockwork just to keep the whispering shadows from getting too long at night.

Yet, despite the cool brutality he had just seen, a warm feeling spread from his heart to the tips of his fingers, a warmth he had not really felt since The Tragedy. Claude may have been protesting of her cold nature, but the only temperature Dimitri associated with the woman was warm, as if she was the dawn’s first rays. If she stayed, would the frost finally depart?

* * *

Byleth wanted to go back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, y'all, and welcome to the beginning of the Orange Sunset route! If you're wondering where Leonie is and what on earth is going on, don't worry, I'm getting there. :0 
> 
> This AU is essentially based on the factor that, frankly, considering everything we're told about the bloke, Jeralt wouldn't not have had Byleth with him during the time he was with Leonie, whom I feel gets a bit of a bad rep 'cos people aren't fond of how she goes on about Jeralt in-game. Thus, I wanted to give her a scenario in which she was a peer to Byleth and had spent longer around Jeralt's mercenaries pre-canon, giving her a chance to reduce the size of the pedestal she had put Jeralt on.
> 
> This divergence leads to several significant consequences that are already in place by this point in time, so the route has already branched by this point.
> 
> I've modified Byleth's general design to be generally more imposing, as she always seemed far too waifish for a hardened mercenary with a fortress for a dad, plus I'm the author so I get to decide how she looks, dammit. Battle outfit is based off of male Byleth's design with extra armour because I love shorts and lacy tights as much as the next person aesthetically but the idea of fighting in that makes me nervous.


	2. Tour of the Grounds (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter was originally one extremely long one (as in 20k long) but I decided to split it into two chunks to make it more manageable for other people like me who dislike having to stop reading halfway through a chapter.

The merry band of Jeralt’s mercenaries and the Knights of Seiros made it to the gate of Garreg Mach just as the sun became visible in the sky, the gatekeeper giving an enthusiastic salute to Alois upon spotting him (“hiya, captain!”). Alois grinned and gave a wave back as they piled through the gate into the monastery proper, having dismounted and unloaded their supplies in the courtyard. Jeralt’s eyes went skyward as he elbowed Byleth, who was half sleepwalking towards their destination; adrenaline was the main factor that had gotten her out of bed this morning, and it had long run dry on the trek to the monastery, leaving her barely lucid.

“Unnh?” Byleth asked.

“Eyes upwards, kid. That’s Archbishop Rhea,” Byleth groggily let herself look up to a lofty balcony to see a woman with long spring green hair adorned with lilies, her curvy figure adorned in a silken white dress. She was staring down at the arriving group, expression unreadable as the breeze shifted locks of her hair. “I won’t explain now, but keep an eye on her, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that she’s up to something. _Don’t_ trust her.”

“Mmmhmm,” Byleth intelligently responded, nodding to show that she had indeed been listening as they entered a huge atrium, arched ceiling towering over them, tiled floors clicking underneath their boots.

“I know you’re not a morning person, but try to look alive, By.”

Alois, who was talking to a young olive-skinned boy next to a staircase at the far end of the space, turned and hailed them down with a raised hand: “oiiii! Captain!” Jeralt frowned slightly, but obeyed the summons. Byleth, not really knowing what else to do, followed him.

“I’ve been informed that Archbishop Rhea would like to talk to you, Byleth and I as soon as you’ve eaten,” Alois started, before glancing at the boy whom he must have gotten the information from: “this is Cyril, by the way, he’s Rhea’s assistant.”

“Hullo,” Cyril introduced himself, meek, before excusing himself with a bow and scurrying away up the staircase before Byleth or Jeralt could say anything.

“He’s rather young to be the assistant of an archbishop, isn’t he?” Jeralt stated, stroking his chin pensively.

“Can’t deny that, but he’s been nothing but impeccable with helping out around here, especially when Seteth isn't available. He’s just not very good with strangers yet. Now, if you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you to the mess hall; the old one got destroyed during a magic class about a decade ago so it isn’t where you’re used to it being.”

“Destroyed in a magic class. Are you serious?” Jeralt asked, half incredulous.

“Absolutely! I was in the mess hall at the time! A haywire Meteor, I was told, although I’ve not the foggiest about all that magic stuff. The Archbishop moved the hall further from the training area to stop it from happening again, so it’s now adjacent to the fishing pond.”

“Fishing pond?” Byleth perked up, ignoring Sothis' squawking disbelief about Alois' survival of both a Meteor spell and the collapse of a building with nary a visible scar. If her dad, who clearly used to know the man rather well, wasn't perturbed by Alois being fine after that, neither was she.

“Ah, you’re fond of fishing, are you? Once our business with the Archbishop is over, I’ll get a word in with the pond manager for you,” Alois promised. “Despite what may happen, you were intending to stay here for a little while, weren’t you?”

Jeralt scratched his head before shrugging. “That’s certainly true. Alright, lead the way.”

* * *

Fed and watered, Byleth was significantly more alert when she was once again lead alongside her father through the sprawling grounds of the monastery, some of the students now mingling around at the significantly more social hour it now was, the morning dew having dissipated in the warming sunlight. She kept her eyes peeled for a flash of orange, but she didn’t see it before making it to a grand wooden door, Alois rapping harshly on its surface: “Archbishop? It’s Alois!” 

“Come in,” a male voice called from within, and Alois threw the doors open. Inside the grand, open room stood two individuals: the woman that Jeralt had pointed out to Byleth earlier and a stern looking man, looking to be in his mid-thirties, dark bags under his eyes and his hair the same vivid green as Sothis’. _That’s not a colour you see every day_ , Sothis herself noted, and Byleth could sense her twiddling with her fringe as she said it.

 _Clearly not related to you, considering those eye bags_ , Byleth thought back. Sothis scoffed, amused.

“Hello, Jeralt. It has been an awfully long time, has it not?” the woman, Rhea, spoke, her voice soft and calming.

“It certainly has. Now, what’s this I’ve been hearing about you wanting for me to return to the Knights of Seiros? That isn’t what I wanted to do; I’m just here on a visit, two weeks max.” Byleth glanced at her father, seeing his arms fold as he spoke - a habit he performed when he was expecting an argument.

Rhea made her case as she leant back onto her desk, running her hands gently over the wood as she began to speak. “I’m aware that your intention was only to stay in Garreg Mach temporarily, but we have received troubling reports as of late, ones that I believe you have interest in. Our student body is being targeted, as you yourself have already witnessed, and we need a force that can patrol the area to ensure the safety of the campus.”

“And you think Alois can’t do that? Why d'you need me?”

Alois fingered his moustache apologetically before cutting in: “I’m flattered by your confidence in me, but we’ve had a predicament as of late. One of the academy’s professors fled Garreg Mach and took a whole platoon of the Knights with them, so we’ve been incredibly understaffed as of late.”

Jeralt's eyebrows ascended to the vaulted ceilings. “Fled? What on Fodlan happened?” he asked, aiming the question mostly at Alois.

“I’d love to tell you, but they vanished without a word and we have little evidence of what may have caused such an action. Our best guess is that it was in response to the increased bandit activity in the area; they were never the bravest soul, bless them,” Alois sighed, shaking his head as if it was an issue that couldn’t be helped. "If Catherine and Shamir were around we'd be in a far better position, but they're up in the Kingdom at the moment."

“So you’re short a platoon and a professor? I’ll tell you for certain, right now, that I’m not teaching anyone.”

“That leads me onto my second proposition,” Rhea interjected, eyes moving from Jeralt to Byleth, causing a cold sweat to crawl down her back. “This is your daughter, correct?”

“Yes, this is my daughter, Byleth,” Jeralt said warily, glancing at Byleth, whose expression remained neutral despite the alarm bells going off in her head.

“I have been informed by several members of Alois’ squad that she is a very talented combatant with a talent for authority,” Rhea complimented, placid, but Byleth still did not feel at ease, if anything becoming even more nervous. “Since we are currently down a professor and you yourself have stated that you have no desire to teach, how does Byleth feel about taking the role instead?”

 _“What?”_ Byleth asked, deadpan, but spluttering on the inside. “Are you taking the piss?”

“Do not speak in that manner to the Archbishop!” the stern man objected, eyes narrowing. “In addition, Archbishop, why was _I_ not informed that this is what you wished to happen?”

“The Goddess works in mysterious ways, Seteth. I feel that it is simply meant to be.”

 _The Goddess may well work in mysterious ways,_ Sothis noted, _but humans work in even more bizarre ways. Who’d employ you?_

 _My dad,_ Byleth thought back.

 _Ah, nepotism!_ Sothis exclaimed.

“Uh, you do know that Byleth’s probably not much older than most of the students, right? I’d have assumed you’d want her to enrol, not teach.” Jeralt was looking warily at Rhea, whose expression had barely changed from that gentle but calculating smile. "She's only twenty."

“It matters not. She is clearly qualified, and we will pay both you and your compatriots fairly for your service, if you are willing to agree.”

“…What do you think, Byleth?” Jeralt asked, and Byleth found her throat dry.

“…This is too sudden. I don’t know this place, these people, and I’m not sure why I’m being expected to make a snap decision,” she decided, putting her foot down. What was this woman smoking? Her, a professor? No way.

“I’m of the same opinion of this girl on this one, Archbishop,” Byleth was surprised to hear the stern man ( _Seteth?_ ) take her side, his hands perched firmly on his hips. Rhea’s smile did not falter, instead raising a finger to her lips in contemplation.

“Is that so? In which case, how does this suggestion sound? Jeralt, you and your daughter can stay as you intended. In the meantime, I would like for Byleth to make herself at home and get to know this year’s cohort. I’ve been informed that you’ve already been acquainted with the house leaders, correct?”

“Who?” Byleth asked, straining her memory.

"Dimitri, Edelgard and Claude,” Alois explained, before pausing, adjusting his original answer. "Blue, red, yellow."

“Oh, those three squabblers.”

“Yes," Rhea confirmed, unbothered by Byleth's assessment. "I will inform them of your position and get them to introduce you to their houses and show you the facilities. Then, this time next week, I will ask you again, and if your answer is once again no, that will be the end of it. Does that sound acceptable?”

“…I guess so,” Byleth conceded. If there was one type of person she was worse with than the heart on their sleeves type, it was the conniving type. Rhea clapped her hands together, pleased.

“Excellent! I’m sure you will enjoy your time here at the monastery. As for you, Jeralt, I’ll give you the same timeframe. I’m sure you will come to the best decision.” She nodded to Alois, who stood to attention: “Alois, can you take Byleth and Jeralt to their quarters? Jeralt can have the old captain’s room, whereas I feel that Byleth will experience the school best from the untaken dorm room on the ground floor.”

“You want me to separate them?” Alois looked sympathetically between Jeralt and Byleth before Jeralt interrupted his thoughts with a shake of his head. 

“It’s alright, Alois. Byleth isn’t fond of sharing rooms. Lead the way.” Jeralt turned on his heel and walked out of the chamber. Byleth, not wishing to loiter either in the room with the woman whose eyes did not smile, followed suit, forcing Alois to run after them.

“Ah, wait!”

* * *

Rhea turned to Seteth once her ex-captain and daughter had quickly excused themselves, Alois shutting the door behind him with a mite too much force in his haste. “Seteth, you don’t trust me in this matter, do you?” she asked serenely. Seteth sulked, but his jaw slackened.

“Distrust is not what I’m feeling, it is uncertainty. I know you, Rhea. You’re not the sort of person to just make a random mercenary a professor out of the blue. Do I get to be informed what it is you have in mind?”

“She’s not a random mercenary, Seteth,” Rhea sighed, before explaining upon seeing the incredulous look on Seteth's face. “She was born here, and I was there when it happened. I simply… want to give her the home she has not had, these past twenty years. I was under the impression that she was dead, before that message arrived. I have not a clue why Jeralt decided to return now, but I can only see it as a blessing from the Goddess.”

Seteth was clearly unconvinced. “Are you not going to ask him what on earth he was thinking?”

“I know why he left, Seteth. He does not trust me, not since his wife died, as he feels I was involved. I am not going to prod at old wounds for answers I will never be privy to.” Rhea let the smile drop from her face, becoming serious. “Do _not_ do as you are prone to do for once, Seteth. Just let sleeping dragons lie.”

“An apt metaphor, coming from you,” Seteth blustered back. “Very well, I will keep my silence. However, if this affects Flayn-“

“It will not. Relax, Seteth, no harm will come to Flayn from either Jeralt or Byleth being at Garreg Mach.”

A huff. “I’ll hold you to that.”

* * *

Wishing to avoid people for at least an hour or so, Byleth had ended up at the fishing pond, rod in hand as she kicked her legs over the edge of the pier, boots just shy of dipping into the water. Fish didn’t jump job offers she wasn’t qualified for on her.

“Byleth,” a familiar voice called from her side as she began to bait her rod, and Byleth tipped her head to see Sothis sitting in a similar manner to herself. The first time that Sothis had materialised out of Byleth's head Byleth had freaked out and checked her water bladder for evidence of tampering, but she had since become long accustomed to Sothis' presence by her side when otherwise alone, even if solitude as a mercenary was scarce. 

“It’s rare you’re out,” Byleth noted as she cast her line into the water.

“Well, I don’t need you to be considered someone who talks to air on top of being antisocial, do I? You’re the only one who can see me, after all,” Sothis explained, as if Byleth wasn’t already aware, before pouting, resting her head on her chin. “That nearly went south, earlier. It’s been a while since I’ve had to use my power like that.”

“Oh, so that _was_ you,” Byleth acknowledged airily, focusing on her lure.

“What did you think it was?! If that had happened to anyone else, that Edelgard girl would be dead.” Sothis slumped back, laying flat on the pier, legs still dangling. “She really got lucky, getting you specifically to help. And she’ll never know.”

“Would you like her to know?” Byleth asked sincerely.

“Appreciation would be nice, goddess knows I don’t get enough of it from you, but what would you even say? ‘Oh, by the way, there’s a woman inside my head who can reverse time’?”

Byleth chafed a little: “I do appreciate you, Sothis. I’m just not good at, you know, people things.”

“That’s an understatement. Half a day of human interaction that doesn’t involve a sword or your dad and you’re hiding at the end of a fishing line.”

“Are you going to get to the point or are you going to keep bullying me?”

“Fine, fine. I’m thinking that I should teach you how to perform the Divine Pulse yourself, consciously. The time trick, I mean.”

Byleth’s attention on fishing suddenly broke, and she turned, her jaw dropped ever so slightly. “Is that really a thing that can be taught?” she asked, nigh incredulous.

“I mean, I’ve been using your body as the medium for it this entire time, so if you put your own mind to it, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to. It’s not dissimilar to magic, in principle.”

“I am a human, you know, right?” Byleth privately thought that Sothis was also aware that Byleth had no talent for magic whatsoever, so suggesting that it was like magic was no help to her.

“Are you saying I’m not? What do you think I am, huh?”

“A ghost?”

“I’ll make you a ghost.”

“A figment of my imagination?”

“I’d rather be a figment in someone who’s actually capable of lucid dreaming a pillow for my chair and aching bones.”

“A god?”

“Yes, and your body is my temple. What a crummy religion that’d be!”

“I’ve decided what you are, for real this time,” Byleth announced.

“Oh?”

“A pain in the arse.”

“Why, you-!” Sothis stood up and started attempting to wrestle the rod from Byleth’s hands as the latter cackled, far too strong for the skinny-armed woman to attempt to sabotage her even with leverage on her side. She might have grown since Byleth had first started seeing her, all those years ago, but not as much as Byleth had.

Then, the lure sunk. Byleth and Sothis looked at each other, an understanding reached in silence, before Byleth began hurriedly reeling in the line, Sothis whooping excitedly, a moderate sized fish bursting from the water. “Good eating on this one,” Byleth slurped, looking forward to eating it later, wondering if there was somewhere in Garreg Mach she wouldn’t get told off for lighting a bonfire.

“You sound just like Leonie when you say things like that. Talking about Leonie, why don’t you go and find her?”

“I needed to cool off first. Plus, I was supposed to be meeting up with the three stooges to get a tour.”

“Is that what you’ve been calling us? Harsh, boss,” a painfully familiar voice laughed, making himself known. Byleth and Sothis both froze, turning around to see a smugly winking Claude, with Edelgard and Dimitri at the far end of the pier, Edelgard in particular with an unusual expression on her face as she stared down at the water.

“Where did you come from?” Byleth nearly hissed, her joy from before evaporating. _He hadn’t heard all that, had he?_

“The other end of the pier?” Claude replied, as if it was utterly obvious that he’d be there. “Nice catch, by the way.”

“Ah, thank you,” Byleth said, picking up her bucket. “Wait, no, hold up. Do you normally stand behind people like that?”

“Do _you_ normally talk to yourself?”

“Oooh, busted,” Sothis groaned. It took a good portion of Byleth’s restraint to not ask whose fault that was as Sothis dissolved away back into her head.

“I find it calming to discuss things with myself when I believe I’m alone, since it helps me keep things in order,” Byleth bullshitted. “Are we all not entitled to some degree of privacy?”

“Not that I don’t appreciate what you’re saying, but if that’s the case I’d suggest doing it in a private area, not right in the middle of campus, boss,” Claude shut down Byleth’s hastily constructed argument. “Either way, those two won’t come onto the pier, so I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me. Seteth seemed insistent that we got your tour done sooner rather than later.”

“…Must I?” Byleth half-pleaded, eyes on her bucket. Claude nodded, an apologetic expression on his face.

“‘Fraid so.”

“Fine.” Byleth grabbed her bucket as she got up to her feet. “Can we stop off by my room on the way around? I want to save this for later.”

“No problem,” Claude affirmed, as he lead Byleth off of the pier to the other two house leaders. “Is there anywhere in particular that you’d like to see first?”

“Wherever it is that people train.”

“Training grounds, gotcha. Hey, Dimitri, looks like there’s someone else who has your priorities. First stop on the Garreg Mach whistle-stop tour is the training grounds, with an initial detour to Byleth’s room to drop off her dinner.”

“Ah, do you like sparring, Byleth? I’d be quite happy to offer myself as a partner,” Dimitri smiled sincerely. Edelgard still had an unusual expression on her face as she raised an eyebrow.

“Always thinking of fighting, aren’t you? A true specimen of the perfect Kingdom noble, as ever,” she snarked, although without much bite. Dimitri chortled, clearly unbothered by the assessment as the group began to lead Byleth in the direction of her room. Byleth was mildly unnerved that all three clearly knew where her quarters were located off of the top of their heads.

“Fighting and sparring are two entirely different entities, and you don’t get an opponent like this one here everyday! Why would I turn down such an ample opportunity?” he justified. “I’ll spar you whenever you wish too, Edelgard,” he promised, swishing his arms around as if he was swinging an invisible spear.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’d rather save my strength for other activities and Goddess knows that I already get enough offers for such challenges from Ferdinand.”

“Yo, do I not get invited to this?” Claude whined insincerely.

“Ah, no, I simply didn’t think you would be interested, Claude! You never really took me as the sparring type. Plus I feel with your skills, I’d be a pincushion before I’d know it,” Dimitri had clearly missed the insincerity of the request and quickly moved to defend himself, a contrite tone to his voice.

“I was only joking, but thanks for the ego boost regardless, Dimitri. In all honesty, it might do me some good to pick up some close combat skills at some point. Maybe if boss here stays at the academy she can teach me, hmmm?”

“I couldn’t teach a dog to sniff their own arse,” Byleth grumbled in her usual deadpan, eliciting a guffaw from Claude. “No idea why that archbishop, what’s her name-“

“Rhea?” Dimitri suggested helpfully.

“Yeah, Rhea. No idea why she’d want me as a teacher. I didn’t learn to read until I was eight and all I’m good at is fighting with weapons. I can’t use magic and you three probably know more about etiquette than I do,” Byleth continued, glancing at her reflection in the windows of the dorm block as they continued to make their way to her quarters. “And look at me, I’m not exactly what you’d expect when you hear the word ‘teacher’ or 'professor'.”

“You can really talk when you want to, huh?” Claude commented snidely. Byleth, taken aback, flushed ever so slightly pink, concealing the colour by turning her head so her face could not be seen.

Edelgard took Byleth’s complaints more seriously, replying ruefully: “no, she’s correct, don’t be contrary, Claude. Have you any idea why Rhea may be trying to make you a professor?”

“Nope. The man who looks like he doesn’t sleep much with the green hair didn’t seem to agree with her idea, though.”

“Seteth,” Edelgard muttered.

“Ah, he’s a sourpuss, he doesn’t like anything,” Claude dismissed, waving his hand up and down as if to blow the thought away.

“Now, that isn’t true! He likes Flayn,” Dimitri corrected.

“Oof, you’ve got me there. Prime siscon through and through.”

“Siscon?” Dimitri asked innocently and Edelgard coughed loudly.

“Byleth, we’ve arrived.” Grasping her momentary respite, Byleth shuffled into the room, thankful that someone had brought her personal case of belongings here for her, noting its presence at the foot of the bed. She paused after depositing her bucket onto the wooden desk to sniff at her clothes. They smelt… musky, to say the least, after suffering from her usual routine of throw on and wear until a chance for a wash. _You're disgusting sometimes, you know that, right?_ Sothis chastised.

“I’ve been in my battle kit for weeks. Do you mind if I get changed quickly? Should only take me five minutes.” Byleth decided not to grace Sothis with a response, pointing at her case.

“There’s no rush, we’ll be waiting outside,” Edelgard yielded, making to leave to give the woman some privacy.

“Can I steal one of you to help with these buckles before you go? Usually my dad does it, but…” Byleth pulled her coat off, dropping it in a heap on the floor, and dragged her hair over her shoulder to reveal where her breastplate was belted on.

“Dimitri, you’re the closest to her in height, I think you should do it,” Claude propositioned cheekily, and Dimitri spluttered.

“I-I couldn’t touch a lady I’ve just met so brazenly! Edelgard, you-“

“Dimitri, she’s about a foot taller than me. I’d have to stand on a stool to reach properly,” Edelgard shot Dimitri down with a logical tone, not deviating from her path out of the room and was quickly out of the range of any further protest.

“Claude-“

“Nope, I ain’t doing it,” Claude belly laughed, filled to the brim with mirth at the increasing puce on Dimitri glowing face.

“ _Why?!_ ”

“Just because.” And with that he too fled the room, snickering the entire way.

“Kid, I give you permission to touch me,” Byleth sighed. “The quicker you unbuckle me the quicker we can get this tour done with.”

“Won’t it bother you? Being touched by a man?” _A man, he says!_ Sothis erupted in laughter. Byleth was inclined to agree. Dimitri was as skinny as a rake and clearly hadn't filled out since his latest growth spurt, which couldn't have happened that long ago.

“How old are you?” Byleth responded flatly.

“S-seventeen.”

“I’m not about to get weird about a kid helping me get a breastplate off. I’ve got underarmour on underneath if that makes you feel better.” Byleth could think of people who would excessively enjoy a nervous teenage boy helping to remove their armour, but Byleth wasn’t one of them. Plus, Byleth wasn’t that picky; she didn’t like being touched by anybody. She was relieved to feel Dimitri fiddle with the straps, clearly having been convinced enough to be able to get over himself.

He was rather delicate and particular with the job, pulling the leather slowly from the buckles as if scared that he would accidentally damage the metal in his hands, and took longer to finish than her dad usually would. “There,” Dimitri announced upon completing his job and Byleth shrugged the plate from her shoulders, rolling them to remove the customary stiffness.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I shall let you finish getting ready,” Dimitri mumbled meekly as he hurriedly excused himself, shutting the door behind him. _Odd kid,_ Byleth thought. _I guess all the blood and slashing got a bit to him._

 _You are **such** a fool,_ Sothis groaned.

* * *

“Sooo, how was it?” Claude had a felinely delighted look on his face as Dimitri burst out from Byleth’s room, red as a tomato. Edelgard was attempting to maintain a neutral expression, but she also had a small, satisfied smirk adorning her face.

“Claude, you are a fiend, how could you do that to me!” he wailed, concealing his face in his hands.

“Oh, you Kingdom lot, a woman throws a sword through a man and it’s _true love_ ,” Claude continued to mock, batting his eyelids, and Dimitri squawked in embarrassment. “Alas, let us spar, our sweaty bodies locked in a friendly battle against each other, my friend!” he said, mimicking Dimitri’s accent as he twirled an invisible lance.

Dimitri made to make a counterargument but only a high-pitched whine of air came out of his mouth. Edelgard guffawed: “now, now, Claude, don’t mock him too much. So Dimitri here has a little crush. No big deal, is it?”

“I make it my policy to use all my opponent’s weaknesses against them. But fine,” he shrugged. “I could see, I don’t know, Felix? I could see Felix being the same way. He seems like a sucker for a woman who throws swords.”

“Felix? I don’t think I could conceive him experiencing joy,” Edelgard shook her head, disagreeing. “He’d make notes about sword throwing form whilst looking dour and miserable.”

“That’s true,” Claude conceded. “Either way, Dimitri, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Tell you what, I’ll take you up on that sparring some time; I’m sure kicking the stuffing out of me will make you feel better.”

Dimitri spread his fingers and looked through the gaps, still red in the face: “are you being sincere?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to rib you a little for having such an obvious crush. You’re lucky she’s so oblivious.”

“Fine. I accept your apology. But,” Dimitri finally removed his face from his hands, the blush gone, _“it is not a crush!”_

“Alright, alright, it isn’t a crush,” Claude raised his hands in mock-defeat.

“I’m done,” Byleth’s monotone voice rang out, and the trio turned to see the woman in significantly more casual clothing, swapping her formless, dark battle wear to something that highlighted the fact that she was a powerfully built woman, wearing a cropped short-sleeved form fitted sweater with shorts over lacy tights with the same boots and coat as before thrown on top. That wasn’t where all three of their eyes immediately shot to staring at, though. Those were looking at the deep cleavage of her surprisingly enormous breasts, exposed by a tactical keyhole in the sweater. “Um, are you all okay?” Byleth asked tentatively when none of the three immediately spoke, mesmerised.

“Oh, yes!” Dimitri broke the silence and eye-contact with the cleavage. “Shall we continue, then?”

“…? Yes, if we must,” Byleth replied, confused. “Lead the way.”

“You didn’t seem like the sort to like that sort of clothing,” Edelgard noted, her reverie broken. “I figured you’d be more the type to wear completely utilitarian items.”

“I find it easier to move around in things like this. I have to wear either mens clothing or items meant to be shorter since I’m too tall,” Byleth explained, rolling her shoulders to punctuate her point. “I don’t have the money to buy custom tailored items outside of my battle gear.” Tugging at the hem of her sweater, she complained: “this would be a normal length top if I was the same height as you.”

“Don’t the tights get snagged easily?”

“They’re pretty sturdy. Even I like to be fancy sometimes,” Byleth yawned, cracking her back out. “I know my face isn’t the cutest, so I have to overcompensate.” Edelgard privately thought whilst Byleth’s face was marred with scars and a blank expression, Byleth was by no way ugly. Not cute, she was right, but handsome in a rogueish way, with thick eyelashes surrounding narrow eyes and a sharply defined jaw. The sort of face that would get denounced as ‘unfeminine’ by those who preferred their women in a strictly defined box of small and waifish with big eyes and rosy cheeks.

“I can empathise,” Edelgard decided to say instead of her opinion, and Byleth didn’t say anything more, seemingly pleased that we was being allowed some peace and quiet as Dimitri and Claude walked in front.

* * *

The training area was occupied when they arrived.

In the centre of the coliseum-esque space, the floor coated with layer of impact-softening raked sand, a tall red-headed student welding a spear was locked in combat with a feral looking student with his hair tied in a messy bun, his right hand clutching a wooden sword white-knuckled as he fought with a snarl. As the arriving group paused at the entrance to let the combat conclude uninterrupted, the latter yelled angrily as he pressed into the former with an extremely aggressive advance, knocking the spear the defender was using clear into the stands with a sharp upwards swipe.Dimitri called out, clearly recognising the pair: “ah, Sylvain! Felix!” The pair paused and turned at the call, their reactions utterly perpendicular to each other upon seeing the person who had hailed them down, the red head grinning and waving and the feral one spitting on the ground and glowering, his amber eyes utterly unhappy as he gripped his weapon tighter.

“What are you doing here, _Boar_?” the feral one spat, and Dimitri shrunk back slightly.

“Felix, chill out,” his training partner sighed, walking over to Dimitri and leaving the feral one, Felix, to stew. “I heard that the house leaders were giving a newcomer a tour. I wanna see them.”

“She’s right there, Sylvain. This is Byleth,” Dimitri introduced, gesturing to Byleth with a hand as she stepped out into the arena, gauging the facilities.

“Oooh. She’s a big one,” Sylvain commented, a hint of lecherousness to his phrase that went over Byleth’s head as she replied:

“I get that a lot. Where’s the weapon rack?”

“On your left,” Felix said, pointing at the well-stocked rack on the outskirts of the arena space. “You here to spar?”

Byleth was awful at reading people normally, but she could smell bloodlust from a mile away and every indication from Felix’s body language and behaviour was asking for a fight. “You want to spar?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Felix grunted and got back into a fighting stance. “I won’t lose.” Claude laughed at that, and Felix frowned even more. “What’s so funny, Reigan?”

“I think you’re about to have your confidence shaken, sword-boy,” Claude grinned, a twinkle in his eye. Sylvain gasped theatrically, his interest still mostly focused on Byleth, who had picked a sword from the rack and was returning to where Felix was waiting.

“You think she’s better than Felix?”

“I _know_ she’s better than Felix,” Claude said with utmost confidence and the bloodlust coming from Felix multiplied.

“Hmph. We’ll see about that. You ready?” Felix asked upon Byleth’s return, who was lazily forming figures of eight with her blade.

“Yeah,” Byleth confirmed, getting into a basic stance just a breath before Felix pounced, swinging with an underhanded leg blow. Byleth blocked easily by dropping her sword to the side, swinging her leg out to swat the aggressive boy out of her personal space, catching him with a glancing blow to the ribs. Felix, incensed, swung upwards to try and catch her unawares, but was immediately blocked, leading for him to flurry with his sword to attempt to wrench open an opportunity to get a clean hit in, quick as lightning as he darted around and struck whenever he felt he had the chance, more nimble than she was.

He was a good sword fighter, that much was certain.

However, Byleth was better. Angling her blade to a telegraphed slice as Felix tired, not reserving his energy for a prolonged fight, she caught the cross-guard of Felix's sword with her blade and tugged, ripping the sword from Felix’s hands. Reversing her grip in a smooth motion as he gaped at his empty hand, she conked him with the pommel on the top of his skull and back, winding him and knocking him down. “I win,” she stated, and Sylvain let out a low whistle.

“And _that’s_ that on _that_ ,” he commented.

“Not sure if Felix sees it that way,” Claude noted, pointing at Felix, clearly incandescent with embarrassed rage as Byleth returned both her weapon and his to where they belonged, leaving him helpless and winded on the sandy floor. “He hadn’t lost in a one-on-one sword fighting match here yet, right?”

“He has now!” Sylvain sniggered, loud enough for Felix to hear and determine the context of, the miasma of anger pouring from him growing stronger.

“It might do him some good,” Edelgard joined in with the post match analysis, “it is easier to learn and improve from your mistakes than your successes.”

“True. But I don’t think he’s happy about it,” Dimitri sighed, before hailing Felix. “Felix! Would you like a hand getting off of the floor? I would be happy to oblige!”

Felix replied with a middle finger. “I’ll take that as a no!” Dimitri conceded.

Byleth returned to where Felix was laid sprawled out, dropping and sitting cross-legged next to him. “Your form is sloppy,” she started, “and you rely on being quick too much, which is tiring you out as you dart around. Whilst you’ll be able to overpower one enemy at the time fairly smoothly, at the rate you’re pushing yourself you’ll end up dead if you have to fight a group.” She paused, keeping a close eye on the felled boy’s face. “If you work on your stamina and form to reduce excess movement, I think you’ll see some improvement pretty quickly. Your techniques and tenacity are good, but your basics are weak. Did you partially teach yourself?”

Felix, breathing easier, muttered: “what’s it to you?”

“I might be able to help you.”

“I don’t _need_ your fucking help!” he hissed.

“You do.”

 _“Fuck off!”_ Felix, clearly having heard enough, turned away from Byleth and clammed up, curling into the fetal position to avoid any further conversation.

Edelgard, who could vaguely hear the lecture, suddenly became pensive upon digesting Byleth’s snap analysis. “You know,” she said, “I may have misjudged Byleth’s ability for teaching. Rhea might have found a diamond in the rough. It’ll take years to get through Felix’s thick skull, though.”

“She’s got some diamonds in that rough, if you get what I’m saying,” Sylvain leered whilst miming a pair of breasts. Dimitri slapped him across the back of the head. _“Owww!”_

“Be respectful for once in your life, _please,_ Sylvain!”

“I’m being completely respectful! I’d call myself reverent! The body is a temple after all and I’m ready to worshi- _owww!_ ”

“Hey, Edelgard, who do you think is worse, Lorenz or Sylvain?” Claude joked as Dimitri prepared to beat Sylvain senseless and Edelgard flipped her hair before responding:

“Ferdinand.”

“No way. He’s never looked at anyone other than himself.”

“You didn’t specify in which way I thought he was worse,” Edelgard justified.

“Oh, hey, people are here,” a cheerful tomboyish voice announced, and the group turned to see a ginger girl walk in, accompanied by a huge muscular man with a mop of blonde hair.

“Hey, Leonie, Raph,” Sylvain hailed. Leonie raised an eyebrow, a silent question to Dimitri, who was placing Sylvain back on the floor with incredibly ruffled hair and a dazed expression.

“He deserved it,” Claude confirmed. “Anyway, eyes to the middle. I think you’ll be interested.”

“Huh?” Leonie obliged, despite her confusion, and her eyes widened when she saw a familiar mass of teal hair. “Oh, no way!” she shouted in delight. “By!”

Byleth averted her attention from the prickly angry mess blatantly ignoring her to the call, and her face lit up, surprising the house leaders. “Leo!” Standing back up, she began to run over to Leonie, who was doing the same towards her. Ducking suddenly, Byleth began to position herself underneath the other, who was preparing a movement of her own as Byleth wrapped her arms around Leonie's waist. Lifting Leonie up above her head, Byleth performed a textbook suplex, but Leonie was clearly expecting it and she tightened her thighs around Byleth’s neck, cat-springing off of her hands and flipping Byleth onto her back with the inertia, letting out a self-satisfied whoop upon seeing Byleth smack the dusty floor.

“Oh, I’ve seen that move before, you won’t get me with it again!” Leonie gloated, dusting her lap off. 

“Noted,” Byleth groaned, sitting up. “How are you getting on?”

“Well enough. Nobles can be a pain in the arse, but there’s some good eggs and the food is great. Not paying for it on top of the tuition is a bonus, too.” Byleth hummed upon hearing Leonie's words, food on the brain again.

“That reminds me, can you have bonfires here?” Byleth asked, not giving any context, but Leonie was wholly used to that and quickly determined the reason why Byleth was asking her that question. 

“You caught some fish at the pond already? That was quick. I’m not sure, but the worst that could happen is a chewing out from Seteth, so I’d say go for it. If you’re doing that, I might catch myself something too. Where’s the captain, by the way?” Leonie offered Byleth a hand as she spoke, which Byleth accepted, allowing herself to be pulled off the floor with a force just shy of dislocating her shoulder. Leonie had always misjudged Byleth's weight. 

“No idea right now, but he’s staying in the old captain’s chambers if you want to find him later,” Byleth half winced, rubbing her now over-stretched shoulder muscles.

“I was thinking of inviting him if we’re having a bonfire.” The pair became aware of the fact they were now surrounded by everyone else who was in the training areas, sans Felix, who had slunk off to lick his wounds. The large man who had come in with Leonie in particular was almost vibrating in excitement.

“Woah! That was _awesome!_ You’ll have to show me how to do that, Leonie,” he said with excessive enthusiasm.

“I think I’d struggle since you’re so much larger than me, but sure,” Leonie promised. “By, this is Raphael, he’s in the same house as me and Claude.”

“Raph for short,” Raphael nodded, pounding his chest with a huge fist. It was rare that someone towered over Byleth, but Raphael was enormous, his uniform clearly far too small as it strained to contain him.

“I’m Byleth. Count me in that class as well, that was a new one. You’ve really been working on your thigh strength,” she said, realising her neck was stiff too. “I’ll feel that one in the morning.”

“I’ve been picking up horse riding since I want to qualify as a paladin, so I guess that’s a consequence,” Leonie said smugly.

“If I wake up one day and you’ve grown a beard and a rat-tail braid I’m not gonna call you dad, you do know that?” Byleth snarked, and Leonie snorted.

“Oh, hush. Not my fault horses don’t like you.”

“Don’t worry! Horses don’t like me either,” Raphael inputted matter-of-factly. Byleththought if she was a horse she wouldn’t like Raphael on her back either, plus even if his hair did look like hay anything smaller than a warhorse wouldn’t be able to reach it to munch. Horses were vengeful creatures, at least in her experience, especially when denied food. 

“Uh, as much as I enjoyed watching you being tossed like a ragdoll and would pay good money to see it happen again, we should probably continue the tour,”Claude was now standing over Byleth, a complicated look of heartbreak and delight on his face. “I think if we don’t finish today Seteth will have a meltdown, and that won’t help you start a bonfire without him giving you a ten-hour lecture. Do you like sausages, by the way?”

“You gonna come?” Leonie asked, eyebrow raised.

“He’s free to come if he brings sausages,” Byleth said, as she was simple and hungry at heart.

“Simple as ever,” Leonie shrugged. “If we’re doing this, might as well bring the whole deer with.”

“Deer?” Byleth slurped. She liked venison.

“Did Rhea… Nah, probably not,” Claude correctly assumed, seeing the blank look on Byleth’s face having more depth than usual. “The three houses have different names. My lot are the Golden Deer. Edelgard runs the Black Eagles and Dimitri leads the Blue Lions. That covers the Alliance, Empire and Kingdom respectively. I’m surprised you said the whole deer, though, Leonie. I know you find Lorenz to be-”

“A complete twat, yeah." Leonie made a crude pumping gesture on her forehead. "But I want to hear him complain when his fancy uniform stinks of smoke in the morning. If we have any luck his stupid lapel flower will burst into flame, too.”

“You’re a girl after my own heart, Leonie," Claude swooned. 

“Heh, if that keeps me out of your ‘poison later’ book I’ll take it. By, beware Lorenz. He’s got an owl-face and purple hair and he will talk your ear off about now to be a proper woman in our ‘wonderful society’ (Leonie made air quotes and Claude grinned). I know you _love_ that.”

Byleth’s mouth went from neutral to a perfectly straight line in disgust, a despised memory of being forced to stay in a noble’s manor for a job when she was fifteen bubbling up, of her being constantly prodded and harassed to be more socially acceptable; she was a woman, didn’t she know? Why a mercenary working with her dad guarding a mansion had to be acceptable in court was still beyond her.

The lady of the house stealing her armour and forcing her into a silk ballgown using coercive magic was the final straw: she had gone to her dad so miserable, covered in marks where the woman’s long nails had dug into her stuffing her in the gown, that he had gone to the lord and resigned on the spot. She had burnt the hateful thing on a campfire that night and had sworn off dresses ever since; the troop would have made good money selling it, but no-one objected to the decision and in fact drank in honour of its destruction. Byleth had told Leonie the story before on one of the troop's visits to Sauin, so it was extremely likely she was referring to it with her statement.

“If he tries to put me in a dress, I’ll kill him.”

“Understandable,” Leonie nodded sagely.

* * *

“So, do you normally greet Leonie like that?” Claude asked cheekily as they left the training area, snaking a path around the back of the dormitory to an area that Byleth did not recognise.

“Yeah, do you?” Sylvain added, and Edelgard shot a glare at him.

“Why are _you_ coming with us?”

“Oh, loosen up. Felix snuck off, didn’t he? I’d only gone to the training area since he’d been hounding me about it, so now he’s gone I wasn’t going to stick about.” Edelgard continued to glare, and Sylvain put his hands up in surrender. “I’m not following you, I’m headed to the classroom to ask if anyone’s seen Felix. I don’t want him to come to me looking to bitch at an inopportune time.”

Edelgard didn't look convinced. “While you’re flirting, you mean.”

“I do other things too! But yeah, he harshes my vibes for the ladies. If I get the bitching out of the way then it’s out of his system.”

“Does he ever get the bitching out entirely? Dude runs on rage and spite,” Claude interjected.

“Nah, but it has levels. Keep it at a low level and it simmers, but leave it unchecked too long and it bubbles over.”

Claude nodded in understanding. “Ohh, the boiling water type.”

“I’d call it boiling sauce, because when it does boil over it makes a mess,” Sylvain groaned, clearly from experience. 

“What, of your chances with the ladies? You do that by yourself,” Edelgard sniped, aiming low. Sylvain clutched at his heart as if he had been shot.

“Ouch! You wound me, Edelgard. Dimitri, defend me!”

Dimitri shook his head, a sad smile on his face: “I believe you deserve this one I’m afraid, old friend. I would help you with Felix, but I don’t think he’d want my pity.”

Sylvain ran his fingers through his hair as he agreed: “yeah. Not to be horrible or anything, but if you tell Felix that losing to the Ashen Demon was inevitable I think he might actually lose his rag.”

“Hm?” Byleth suddenly started paying attention, having tuned the rest of the conversation out. “You know who I am?”

“Uh, extremely tall woman, blue hair, absolute beast with a sword? Yeah, I know who you are alright. You’re kind of a legend in the Gautier area after you killed that demonic beast by yourself in less than a minute.”

“You’re from the Gautier area?”

“Oh, right, I guess you wouldn’t know if you just got here. I’m Sylvain Gautier, heir apparent of the Gautier house, etc etc who cares.”

“Wait. Y _ou’re_ the manwhore all the women in the bar in Remire Village were complaining about?” Byleth exclaimed, and Dimitri and Claude both started having different kinds of fits: Dimitri coughing in shock and Claude bursting into breathless laughter.

“I… wouldn’t have put it _that_ way…” Sylvain muttered, taken aback.

“Your reputation proceeds you, Gautier,” Edelgard smirked, vindicated.

“You should diversify, get all of the men to complain about you too,” Claude added insult to injury, barely getting the words out between shallowly taken breaths and giggles. “So _pedestrian_ , only breaking women’s hearts.”

“Remire Village? Sylvain, we’ve been here _two weeks_!” Dimitri landed the final blow with genuine, earnest disappointment in his voice.

“Alright, fine, so I may have been fooling around in Remire, jeez,” Sylvain admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Let a guy have some fun.”

“I do not want to have to deal with a woman turning up with your bastard child, please, Sylvain!” Dimitri pleaded. “I think Ingrid may well actually kill you if that happens.”

“Hey! I’m careful.”

“Not careful enough. I think they might lynch you if they see you again,” Byleth said, yawning. “I was in that bar last night and my non-existent cock hurt listening about what they wanted to do to yours,” she elaborated, miming a pair of scissors with her fingers and chomping her teeth.

“That’s not a mental image I needed, thanks,” Claude blanched, Dimitri looking peaky himself as he glanced at Sylvain, almost sympathetic.

“O-kay, thanks for the warning about _that_ , I guess. I’ll stay clear of there for a bit, might stay a bit more local, you know?”

“You touch any of the Eagles and there’ll be hell to pay,” Edelgard threatened.

“And there’s my stop! Lovely talking to you, but I’m afraid my search must go on. Buh-bye!” Taking a sudden turn, Sylvain quickly paced off down an adjacent corridor. Dimitri called out after him:

“Sylvain! I thought you were going to ask in the classroom- he’s gone.”

“Guess he’d had enough of being quadruple slut-shamed for today,” Claude shrugged.

“You weren’t slut-shaming him, you were straight shaming him,” Edelgard corrected, although with amusement.

“At some point you have to start diversifying to become a well rounded adult,” Claude explained brusquely.

“Most people are straight, Claude. And which men have you got your eyes on, then?”

A smirk. “Now, why would I go and disclose such personal and ample blackmail material to one of my rivals, hmm?”

“You’re not denying it.”

“ _Edie_ , love, you are one to talk,” Claude half-threatened, a sly grin on his face. “Dorothea is a real looker, isn’t she?’

Edelgard did not react in the expected way to such an accusation, simply giving a withering look to Claude. “She’s a stage star and the darling of Enbarr,” she started, as if speaking to a child, “of _course_ she is. And you don’t get to call me that.”

“ _Me-ow!_ Alright, alright, I’ll drop it, don’t smother me in my sleep.”

Edelgard smiled with her mouth only. “No promises.”

“Anyway, Byleth, what do you think?” Claude re-aimed the target of interrogation, angling for more information about his mysterious companion.

Byleth came back to attention upon the use of her name, having tuned out the conversation again. “Huh?”

“Have you been listening?”

“…”

“That’s a no, then. What do you like?”

“Fishing.”

“No, I meant do you like men, women, bit of both?”

“I like fishing.”

“Alright.” And that was the end of it, as Claude realised that getting an alternative answer would be like extracting blood from a stone. The awkward silence persisted for a short while before Dimitri coughed.

“Well, what do you think of Garreg Mach so far?” he asked, clutching at conversational straws.

Byleth tilted her head as she considered the question. “Loud and full of church people, but the food is good and there’s a nice pond. Beats sleeping in a tent.”

“Are you not fond of the church?” Edelgard asked, suddenly attentive.

“Nah, I’m just agnostic. Considering the things I’ve seen, I’m not that convinced that there’s a benevolent all-knowing higher power, but if it helps you sleep at night, I’m not going to say anything.” Byleth didn’t need help sleeping at night between Sothis’ influence and her own muted emotions.

“Ah, nothing like a little bit of blasphemy between friends on sacred ground,” Claude joked. “Well, I say that, but I can’t say my opinion differs much from yours. The Alliance is the least religious country of Fodlan, though. Dimitri, oh prince of the Holy Kingdom, how do you feel, hearing that?”

Dimitri’s face soured, but only for a second. “Officially, I condemn words as such.”

“Unofficially...?” Edelgard prodded.

“I… have also seen horrors that a benevolent goddess should not have allowed.”

“Duscur,” Edelgard mumbled, realising the nerve she had touched. “I apologise, Dimitri.”

“Yeah, me too,” Claude added, voice genuine for once. 

Byleth recalled the Tragedy of Duscur, that bloodied, godless incursion. She was in the Empire at the time, a few score miles from Enbarr when the news had spread, wyvern and pegasi riders dropping print of the news across the entire continent as if possessed. Jeralt had refused to take the troop into the Kingdom for eighteen months following the event; one of the troop members was from Duscur, travelling with them in hope of understanding the land to the south, and she had wept for weeks on end, protesting the innocence of her homeland in the dead of night. They only returned to allow the woman safe passage to her ravaged hometown, which was the last time that Byleth had seen her.

Now her memory had returned, an additional fact of the event bubbled up -there was only one survivor from Faerghus’s royal family.

The crown prince.

Dimitri.

 _Wow, Edelgard and Claude were fishing for information and pulled out a bomb with the fuse about to go,_ Sothis noted. 

“It is fine. Now, shall we talk about lighter topics?” Dimtri put on a face so wooden that even Byleth could see through it, but there was no benefit in platitudes or further interrogation, so the conversation followed the abrupt U-turn with the assent of all parties involved.

“A lighter topic, huh…? Well, there’s that mock battle coming up for our matriculation next week. How do you rate your chances?” Claude asked, and Dimitri turned his thoughts to the question with gusto.

“Of the Blue Lions? Well, I can really only speak of the combat potential of Ingrid, Sylvain, Felix, Dedue and myself, as I’m not acquainted as well with Ashe, Annette and Mercedes. But, I don’t think we’ll lose.” Dimitri put his finger up, explaining himself completely unprompted. “My house is by _far_ the most experienced at close combat, and with the small area that we’ve been allotted, I feel we shall have the advantage.”

“Interesting,” Claude commented, the notebook in his head being filled, and Edelgard groaned.

“Dimitri, he’s milking you for information.”

“Oh!” Dimitri’s eyes widened. “Claude, you sly deer!”

“Sly deer? Can deer be sly?” Claude replied snarkily.

“They can if they’re you,” Edelgard shook her head. “Oh, whatever. I think rushing in is unwise, Dimitri, but I won’t say anymore. Well, the Eagles will be victorious regardless, clearly, but I wouldn’t like for it to be a cakewalk.”

“Ooh, those are fighting words!” Claude once again turned his attention to Byleth, who had learnt to at least follow vaguely what was going on even if she really didn’t want to. “So, what do you think, boss?”

“I haven’t really met any of your classes to be able to give you a judgement. Yours especially, red.”

Edelgard made a face. “…You’re not going to call me Edelgard, are you?” she muttered.

“Sorry, my brain isn’t brilliant with multisylla- multisylliable-“ Byleth tripped over her words, and Edelgard stepped in to correct her.

“Multisyllabic? **”**

“That’s the one. I’m not good with multisyllabic names, and you don’t seem the sort to like your name shortened. I’d probably call you El, otherwise.”

Byleth didn’t notice both Edelgard and Dimitri seize up slightly on the word ‘El’, so subtle even Claude missed the cue. Edelgard swallowed slightly before responding, weighing up her options: “You may call me El if it is easier for you. I prefer it to being called red.”

“Okay, El then. I don’t know anyone from your class, so I can’t really make any judgement on your chances. Dimi, Felix seems competent enough, but not a team player. I didn’t get enough of a handle on Sylvain’s ability.“

Claude perked up, suddenly excited. “Oh, you’re going to give us all a nickname?”

Byleth shook her head. “No, your name is fine as is.”

“Boo, I want a nickname too, boss!” Claude pouted.

“Okay,” Byleth said.

“…So?” Claude prodded, when Byleth remained silent for an extended period, deep in thought.

“You keep calling me boss, so I guess that makes you Minion.” Byleth’s apparent permanent disinterest concealed a genuine feeling of schadenfreude as Claude physically recoiled from the suggestion, screwing his face up as if he had just been forced to eat a lemon. _Yeah, take that, smart-arse._

“You know what? I don’t need a nickname. Claude is fine.”

“Or Clown. Starts the same, but really gets to the point. Clown-de.” _Way to put a boy in his place, Byleth,_ Sothis cackled. _He wants to be a jokester, he can wear the outfit._

“Please just call me Claude.” Claude sounded suddenly exhausted as Edelgard snorted into her hand. Dimitri patted him on the shoulder, consoling him.

“Hmm. You’re right about not really seeing anyone from my house, but you’ve seen two a piece for the Deer and Lions. We’ll head to the Black Eagles classroom first, if that sounds agreeable?” Edelgard suggested as they entered a courtyard decorated with technicolour hangings, pointing towards the an entrance at the far end adorned with red.

Byleth shrugged. “Sure.”

* * *

“Lady Edelgard!” As the group entered the classroom, a gloomy looking man with pronounced cheek-bones paced over to them, greasy-haired and sallow-eyed.

“Hubert,” Edelgard acknowledged.

“Claude, Dimitri, how _pleasant_ it is to see you in my lady’s company,” the man drawled, not attempting to hide his contempt. “And this is…?”

“This is Byleth. We’re showing her around on the request of the archbishop. She’s determining if she is staying or not for the year," Edelgard introduced, waving her hand at Byleth, who glanced at Hubert warily. Byleth wasn't one to judge by appearances, but Hubert looked like the sort who'd stab you for accidentally using their milk.

“It’s certainly… unusual to have someone arrive so late,’ Hubert muttered, a dangerous glint to his eye. “Alas, I do not know what the archbishop desires. Which house would you be joining, Byleth?”

“I-I don’t know?” Byleth glanced at Edelgard for guidance, but Hubert pressed on before Edelgard had a chance to help.

“You do not _know_? Where was your birthplace?” he continued to interrogate, figuratively twisting the thumb-screws.

“As far as I’m aware, here?” Jeralt had never been forthright about Byleth’s birth, but he had told her that she had been born in a monastery, her mother a bishop. Even she could put two and two together after Alois’ reaction to her. Hubert’s gaze burnt into her painfully as she spoke - she really was getting sick of all this attention.

“Neutral ground… I guess you would be able to select, then. You should join the Eagles. We are _far_ superior to the other two, richer in both history and talent.” Hubert was clearly the smug self-assured noble type, then. Byleth was extremely bad with dealing with this type of person, even more so than those with too much energy and those with barely-concealed hidden agendas. 

_Oh, Goddess, let it go, please._ “I’ll, um, think about it,” she said, no intention of thinking about it. 

“Hubert, have you seen the others?” Edelgard rescued Byleth with a question, and the burning stare moved from her. Byleth sighed in relief and Dimtri gave her a sympathetic look. 

“Recently, I’ve only seen Linhardt and von Aegir (Hubert said 'von Aegir' with utter disgust, his nose wrinkled). Linhardt is sleeping on his desk, and von Aegir was prattling on about horses as usual as he left, so I would infer that he was headed to the stables.”

“Ah, yes, I see Linhardt now.” Edelgard walked over to a mop of abnormally straight green hair _(How many people in this place have green hair?)_ laid on a desk near the rear of the classroom, slamming her hands harshly to each side of the mass. “Linhardt, get up.”

“I’m awake. Must you be like that, Edelgard? We aren’t even in class,” a voice replied, sleepy and muffled into the wood.

“Introduce yourself and you can return to whatever you wish.”

“Hmph. Fine.” The hair raised from the desk to reveal an unimpressed face not dissimilar to Byleth’s, although significantly paler and less scarred, and where Byleth’s eyes were upturned theirs were droopy and rimmed with sleep-sand. “I’m Linhardt. Goodbye.” He made to lay his head back down, but Edelgard blocked the attempt with her hand.

“ _Properly_ , Linhardt. Unless you want to be put on stable duty with Ferdinand?”

A small, unimpressed gasp. “You _wouldn’t_.”

“I would. Now, will you introduce yourself like a normal, polite person?”

“ _Hahhh_. Hello, Byleth, I’m Linhardt von Hervring. I’m sixteen years old. My interests are sleeping, reading and fishing, as they give me ample time to spend alone. I’m five foot ten, which is the perfect height to grab books without hitting my head on doorframes. My type? That’s a secret, _kyaa~_ ,” he rattled off as if giving an interview for a tabloid, except with no enthusiasm whatsoever. Byleth felt as if she had found a kindred spirit in the boy. Edelgard put her head into her hand.

“I dread the day we’ll be stuck with you in government.”

“As do I. May I go back to what I was doing now?”

“As you wish.”

“Wonderful.” He put his head back on the desk. Byleth wished she could join him.

“Hm? I guess he’s been listening the entire time we’ve been here, if he picked your name up,” Dimitri commented, mildly impressed.

“Don’t be fooled by the laziness. Linhardt is far more intelligent than you would expect,” Edelgard collaborated with Dimitri’s words, but spoke to Byleth. “If it turns out you have a crest, he’ll be more interested to see you. I don’t even want to know what he and Hanneman are brewing up.”

“I think you’d find it quite fascinating, Edelgard,” Linhardt replied without moving his head. “if you ever want to contribute, you know where to go.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m not interested.”

“Your funeral.”

“Lady Edelgard, I would like to bring your attention to what von Reigan is doing,” Hubert leapt back into the conversation, making Dimitri jump. Turning to to where Hubert’s finger was pointed, the three of them saw Claude had scribbled _‘Golden Deer rulez!!!!’_ on the board with the chalk, a small, surprisingly well-drawn cartoon deer in the corner holding a bow shooting arrows into an eagle and lion.

“Erase that,” Edelgard requested through gritted teeth, clearly not impressed. Claude stuck his tongue out, thumb down on one hand and chalk clutched in the other, before he ducked abruptly with a squawk to avoid a magic bolt flung at him, leaving a small, smouldering hole in the blackboard where his head had been.

“ _Fucking hell_ , Hubert, dark magic?!” Claude swore as he came back up, glancing at the characteristic purple-black corrosion of the mark in the board.

“I am sorry, did you not hear my lady? Erase the message, and that crude cartoon as well,” Hubert hissed, magic crackling on his fingers.

“Fine, fine, I was only messing around, didn’t warrant dark magic…” Claude grumbled as he rubbed out the chalk.

Byleth observed the hole, noting that it was exactly in line with Claude’s nose as he wiped the board down. “Your accuracy is rather good,” she said, and Hubert preened.

“Why, yes. My family, the von Vestras, are experts in the tuitelage and usage of dark magic.”

“You were aiming for the chalk, though, weren’t you? Right height, wrong angle. I don’t know much about magic, but even I know dark magic likes to go in whatever direction it feels like, so even getting the elevation right with a small shot like that is impressive.” Hubert suddenly stopped preening, looking at Byleth with a dazed expression.

“How- How do you not know that I was aiming for Reigan’s head? He would deserve it.”

“Would not,” Claude muttered, but was ignored.

“The shot curved. Plus, you don’t seem the sort to cause an international incident and have it obviously linked to you. You give me more of a ‘stabbed in the dead of night’ impression.”

“Because he looks like a vampire,” Linhardt muffled into his desk.

“Yeah, probably.” Byleth wouldn’t have been surprised if someone said that Hubert could turn into a bat.

Hubert coughed, unsure if he should be insulted or not. “If we consider your statement to be true - which it may not be, I hasten to add - what would you suggest I should do to rectify it?”

Byleth thought for a few agonising seconds, Dimitri having abandoned the conversation to help Claude with the board and Edelgard giving her an intense stare, before coming to her conclusion. “Have you ever shot a bow?”

“No, I cannot say I have. Why do you ask?”

“Shooting an arrow accurately depends on outside factors a lot more than magic does. Wind speed, arm strength, you know. I think if you work with a bow for a bit in different weather conditions and grasp how to react to the differences, you might be able to apply it to the unpredictability of dark magic.”

“I see. Whilst it is a most unusual suggestion, I see no reason why I shouldn’t attempt it,” Hubert bowed deeply towards Byleth, shocking her mildly. She wasn’t used to such an action being performed for her, considering it had never happened before. “Thank you for the aid.”

“Uh, anytime?”

“Byleth!” Dimitri called as he returned back to the group with Claude following him warily, uncharacteristically meek. “If you are ready, shall we proceed to the Blue Lions’ classroom?”

“Sure.”

“I shall be sure to inform you of my progress, Byleth,” Hubert said to the group’s retreating backs as Linhardt raised a hand and waved lazily in farewell. Turning with a self-satisfied leer to the classroom, his spirits fell when he saw that the blackboard had been re-vandalised to state _‘Hubert sucks’_ , punctuated with a drawing of him with sharp fangs surrounded by bats.

* * *

“I didn’t think you’d be the sort to suggest that, Dimitri,” Claude laughed, his sombre act worn off after retreat. Dimitri looked sheepish, but had a wry smile on his face.

“I would rather people would not throw bolts of dark magic at my friends,” he explained.

Edelgard sighed. “I’ll have a talk with him later. I know he can be overbearing.”

“Overbearing is an understatement. I heard he made someone cry just by looking at them the other day!" Claude mentioned, clearly enjoying divulging in gossip.

Edelgard sighed again, louder this time, scrunching her eyebrows. “That was Bernadetta. She’s… a special case.”

Claude bounced on his heels in excitement. “Ooh, that’s the shut-in Eagles girl, right? I think she’s the only person I haven’t encountered yet!”

“You will, once classes start. I’m ensuring she attends. But please, Claude, be gentle with her; she’s very difficult to calm once she’s wound herself up.”

“Be nice to the shut-in girl, gotcha.”

“You’re pretty good at drawing,” Byleth commented abruptly, derailing the conversation. As usual, she’d fazed out of listening, preoccupied with the cute little cartoon animals she’d seen. She wanted to see a cat drawn like that. She liked cats.

“Why, thank you! My friend Ignatz has been running me through the basics. If you think my scribbles are good, you’ll have your socks blown off by Ignatz’s stuff,” Claude grinned.

“Leonie’s good at painting too.” Byleth’s mind wandered to a memory of a much younger Leonie excitedly showing her a painting of Jeralt on his horse, a painting that Byleth still kept with her most precious possessions. She’d have to pin it to the corkboard she’d noticed in her room once she returned.

Once, she’d asked her to draw her a certain girl, green-haired and pointy-eared. Sothis didn’t look entirely the same as she did then, but her expression was spot on even to this day. _She drew me with a shit-eating grin_ , Sothis grumbled, surprisingly explicit for her. And her expression was still spot on even to this day. _Oi._

“Is she? She’s never brought it up,” Claude replied, brows furrowed. “She’s definitely been around when Ignatz and I have been talking about it.”

“Definitely. I still have some of her older stuff,” Byleth nodded. _Such a doting big sister you are_ , Sothis mocked.

“You’ll have to show me them. I didn’t clock her as the artsy type.”

“Yes, she’s rather overly practical, isn’t she?” Dimitri contributed. “I saw her with an abacus last market day haggling with the stall owners. I’ve never seen anybody convert so little money into so many products!”

Byleth groaned. “…She’s started doing that again?”

“Ooh, this sounds like a story!” Byleth was acutely aware about Claude being a gossip hound by this point, that particular snippet of information being so blatantly obvious even oblivious Byleth had picked up on it. 

“No, it doesn’t.” And it wasn’t, not really. Leonie was just an incurable cheapskate. It wasn’t as if the stipend that Jeralt and Byleth sent her was minuscule, either; certainly, it wasn’t a noble’s allowance by any measure, but it was more than enough to survive on comfortably. Jeralt was also sponsoring her through the academy, but Leonie insisted that she would pay him back in full, with interest, no argument capable of making her back down. Byleth had a sneaking suspicion that Leonie was squirrelling her allowance away to pay them back. She’d have to have a word with Jeralt at some point, as Leonie was a brick wall regarding any conversation about money.

Claude pouted, denied his gossip. “Harsh!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth's outfit here is a more casual version of the original female Byleth outfit since I'm not against exposing skin and lace... outside of a battlefield. I've worn lacy tights myself and I know from experience they catch on everything and that's the last thing you want when you're in a fight. 
> 
> I've altered some characterisations to make some of the students act more like their age. Claude is currently the biggest example of this - I feel like considering how much he pushes his luck sometimes he gets away with far too much in canon in the Academy Phase. Thus, I'm going to make him misjudge situations as he's extremely smart, but a bit too cocky, and has known a majority of the academy for barely a couple of weeks at this point. I'm also not locking friendships and interactions to canon supports. A big interactional change from canon I'm doing is having Mercedes and Annette be close but not BFFs, since Mercedes is 6 years older than Annette and they would have been 20 and 14 respectively when they met. I don't know any 3rd year uni students and Y9s that are best friends with each other.
> 
> As far as I'm concerned, all of the house leaders and route exclusive characters should have been bisexual (even if only for quality of life), thus I've made it the case here, although each person's attractions vary, with some clearly leaning some ways more than others. I'm bisexual myself though, so I guess I'm biased. There really should have been more male bisexual S ranks from the start, and not weird platonic ones with married men.


	3. Tour of the Grounds (Part 2)

Having found both the Blue Lions and Golden Deer classrooms empty, the tour continued, with the group making their way leisurely towards the cathedral, the sun now starting to dip in the sky from its zenith as the afternoon established itself. The group told Byleth that they knew she had been to the mess hall earlier in the day, so they simply passed through, Byleth salivating as she smelt the kitchen.

“Ah, would you like to see the greenhouse?” Dimitri asked as they walked around the pond, Byleth looking wistfully back at the pier. “It’s slightly out of our way, but not by much.”

“Don’t see why not,” Byleth assented, though she still stared at the pier with desire. Had she not been social enough for one day?

“I’ve seen folks swim in the pond too, if you like swimming,” Claude suggested. Byleth looked down at herself and back at Claude before replying dryly:

“I do, but they don’t make swimwear in my size.” Byleth wasn’t up to date on social norms, but even she knew that if she decided to swim naked like she usually did when she had the chance she’d cause an uproar. The only style of swimwear available ready-made for women were frumpy one-pieces with legs, and Byleth couldn’t fall back on her strategy of wearing men’s clothing for this particular area.

“There’s a new style of swimwear from Brigid coming into vogue amongst Empire youths which may work for you better, actually,” Edelgard suggested. “It’s called a bikini, and it’s a two piece that are like a bra and panties. They’re revealing, but it should allow you to wear them despite being tall, since it doesn’t have a bodice or legs.”

“How do you know about swimwear trends, Edelgard? You _despise_ water!” Dimitri exclaimed.

“Oh, I think I know why,” Claude giggled, and Edelgard glowered at him. Byleth, as oblivious and unbothered as ever, simply nodded as Dimitri tried to understand the subtext of Claude’s statement and failed.

“I’ll have to look into that. Thank you for the suggestion, El.” Byleth wasn’t precious about being modestly dressed so much as practicality, and if it meant she could catch fish by spearing them without being called a pervert she’d willingly swim in glorified underwear. She'd swim naked if people weren't so insistent on clutching pearls. Nipples were nipples on either a man or a woman. _This line of thinking is how you ended up making a woman faint in shock back in Gloucester_ , Sothis muttered.

“You’re welcome.”

As they entered the greenhouse, balmy air sticking to their skin, Dimitri suddenly reacted and hollered: “Ah, Dedue! Ashe!” In response to the call, two male students tending to the vegetable beds looked up, one a fresh-faced boy who looked too young to be enrolled, a smattering of freckles on his pale cheeks framed by misty grey hair and the other a large mountain of a man, with dark skin and pale hair, his face sculpted into a permanently severe expression with pronounced brow bones. The pair were so highly dissimilar, at least in appearance, that Byleth had to blink several times to make sure that they were indeed together and not just both in the same place at the same time.

The smaller one waved with dirt smeared hands and replied in a cheerful voice: “hiya, your highness!”

“Hello, your highness.” The larger one placed a potted sprout onto the floor with surprising gentleness, wiped his hands on a handkerchief to remove the soil and stood up, as if to attention. “Is there something you require my aid with?” _Goddess_ , Sothis gawped, _he’s huge!_ Whereas Raphael was large and wide, This man went up and kept going, easily clearing two metres. With no other person around for reference, he would make Byleth look like a woman of normal height.

“Ah, no, be at ease, Dedue. Edelgard, Claude and I are giving a tour to Byleth here, and this was en-route to the cathedral. I simply wished to greet you and Ashe whilst we were here. Oh! But where are my manners? Byleth, this is my retainer, Dedue. The boy accompanying him is Ashe.”

“Hello,” Byleth introduced herself for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Luckily, Dedue wasn’t the gregarious type, and he simply nodded to acknowledge what she had said.

“Hello, Byleth!” Ashe beamed, innocence oozing out of his every pore. _Seriously, how is he old enough to be here?_

“What are you up to, if I may be so bold to ask?” Dimitri inquired, and Ashe gestured with his arms across the patch of soil he and Dedue had been working on to a small basket of onions and potatoes, all covered in damp soil and clearly having only recently been exhumed.

“Dedue mentioned to me that some of his crops were ready and I’ve been in the cooking mood, so I asked if I could possibly have some to make a meal with. I’m thinking I’ll make cawl with these and a bit of that cheese I found at the market last week.”

“Well, any meal made with Dedue’s vegetables and your skills is certain to be delicious!” Dimitri complimented without a jot of hesitation, and Ashe’s cheeks went ruddy with delight. Dedue’s lips upturned slightly.

“Cawl?” Byleth slurped. She hadn’t had that in a long while. You only really got it in the more remote regions of Faerghus or highly overpriced in snooty restaurants in Fhirdiad. 

Ashe seemed pleasantly surprised by Byleth's input. “Yes! Do you like it? If you want I can set you a bowl aside; there’ll be far too much for me and Dedue to eat by ourselves, and the more the merrier!”

Byleth wasn’t sure she agreed with that sentiment, but she did like cawl, so she agreed: “I’m planning on having a bonfire to roast fish tonight, but I can have it tomorrow.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll take a day to prepare, anyway! But, if you’re having a bonfire…” Ashe looked at Dedue, who had materialised another basket full of sweet potatoes from what appeared to be thin air, but must have simply been originally just out of view. Dedue didn't seem the sort to perform magic tricks. 

“Please, take some,” Dedue offered. _Do all of these crops mature at the same time?_ Sothis wondered, but Byleth didn’t care so long as she could eat it. Opening the pockets of her coat, she stuffed in as many potatoes as would fit, which was less than she would like due to the sheer girth of them. Dedue had clearly tended to them with love for them to achieve the the size they had. _Haven’t these students only been here two weeks? How have the crops grown that fast?_ Sothis continued to protest, but Byleth still didn’t care so long as she could eat it.

“Thank you. I’ll set you some roasted ones aside,” she promised.

“I shall look forward to it,” Dedue replied, unfazed by how Byleth had accepted his gift. Ashe scuttled across the floor to whisper to Dimitri:

“Dimitri, did she just… her pockets? That many?”

“I doubt any questions will get you a satisfactory answer, Ashe.”

“Dedue didn’t even blink.”

“Dedue has seen stranger things.”

“Do I even want to ask?”

“Oh, it’s nothing crude. Just me being foolish on multiple occasions.”

“Huh? But you’re no fool, your highness!”

“Ashe, if you had seen his face earlier, you wouldn’t be saying that,” Claude added to the whispered conversation. “His face was like a tomato.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Well, it all started when boss there threw a sword through a guy-“

“Shhh! No!” Dimitri shoved a hand over Claude’s mouth, blushing furiously. Ashe blinked, clearly curious but decided not to pry as he was too nice by far.

“I’m sure it was nothing, your highness.”

“Ashe, you are allowed to call me Dimitri. We are all equals here at the academy.”

“Yesh, bosh ofar shere aleadi cawsh him Dimi,” Claude attempted to speak despite the hand held over his mouth.

“Sorry?”

“He’s saying that Byleth has already given me a nickname. Edelgard has one too.”

“I dohnt,” Claude muffled sadly.

“Um, your high- Dimitri, (Dimitri smiled with genuine glee), why aren’t you uncovering Claude’s mouth?”

“The only thing predictable about Claude is that he isn’t. I fear if I do allow him speak freely that the result will not be to my advantage.”

“I feel sorry for him though. Look at him. He’s got sad eyes.” Dimitri turned to see Claude with downtrodden puppy eyes, and the distrust of Claude was overshadowed by guilt.

“Fine, I’ll let you speak,” Dimitri sighed.

“So anyway, Dimitri has a crus- _guaaack_!” Claude’s head whipped forwards as Dimitri slapped him across the back of the head with a surprising amount of force, similarly to how he had to Sylvain earlier. It really wasn't Claude's day that day. Chased, narrow brush with dark magic, now a slap across the back of the head. He really needed to reassess Fódlan once more.

“ _Claudeeeee!_ ” Dimitri wailed, blushing furiously.

“Your highness, are you alright?” Dedue asked, concerned, Claude groaning as he rubbed the back of his head - he’d have a bruise there later, no doubt about it.

“Ouch, I really shouldn’t underestimate your crazy strength, should I?”

“You deserved that, and you know it,” Edelgard said smugly without even having heard any of the conversation between the three boys, and Claude stuck his tongue out before he winced as another jolt of pain came from his skull as a consequence from his cocky action.

“Maybe. But it was worth it. Look at him.” Dimitri was blushing so hard that the colour had spread to his ears and chest as Ashe and Dedue doted on him, wondering what on earth had happened. “He looks sunburnt.” Claude rolled onto the floor, lying on his back but keeping his eyes on Edelgard and her aura of extreme amusement.

“Oh, undoubtably,” Edelgard agreed placidly, voice withholding that she wanted to sing Dimitri's praises to the heavens for taking Claude _Fucking_ Reigan down a peg despite her distaste for gods. Claude's eyes narrowed as he scanned his surroundings and saw Byleth completely unaware of the situation, too blissed out on the joy of produce, and Dimitri being clucked over by his mother hens.

“Noticed no-one has asked if _I’m_ okay.”

Edelgard yawned, utterly unbothered, or more accurately privately ecstatic, by her companion's plight. “Claude, I doubt you’d die even if you were killed,” she accused airily.

“I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to respond to that, but I’ll assume no sympathy will be aimed my way in the foreseeable future.” _I'll remember this, Edie,_ Claude thought. _Someone is going to be shitting themselves 'til kingdom come sometime in the foreseeable future, and it isn't going to be me._

Edelgard smirked behind her hand. “Absolutely not.”

* * *

After a lot of fussing, the group left the greenhouse, Dimitri still a light rosy hue and Claude with a pounding headache. After enough hammy protesting from Claude about his throbbing head, sighing and huffing like a D-list actor, Dimitri apologetically suggested that they should go to the infirmary, which was now their new destination rather than the cathedral. Byleth had missed the commotion that had led to this scenario, too enamoured with potatoes, and didn’t really care enough to ask, simply content to be lead around as her heavy pockets swung about her wildly, at one point forcing a monk walking past them to dodge to avoid getting bludgeoned. Her mood was far improved compared to earlier, some of her social exhaustion offset. _Glutton,_ Sothis accused.

Arriving at a door on the same floor as the room Byleth had met Rhea in, a brass plate nailed into it reading ‘infirmary’, Dimitri rapped on the wood and shouted: “Professor Manuela? Are you in?”

In response, a cacophony erupted, with the melodious tones of breaking glass and swearing.

Then silence.

Then the door swung open, a brunette woman of indeterminate age with thick, caked-on make-up answering the door, burgundy lipstick smeared all over her chin and clothes disheveled. “Dimitri! What can I do for you?” she asked in a syrupy, somewhat hoarse voice, one false eyelash having migrated from her eye to her cheek. Byleth was impressed that none of her companions even flinched at the woman’s sloppy appearance, considering their interest in her own.

“Ah, it’s not I who needs your aid, it is Claude here. I… may have underestimated my own strength again.” Manuela’s lips pursed in surprise, glancing at Claude incredulously, who waved meekly in response.

“Claude? _Hurt?_ That’s a new one. Come in. Ah, Edelgard is with you too. And this must be Jeralt’s daughter. You’re Byleth, right?”

“That’s me.”

“I met your father earlier, and what a hunk he is, too! By the by, your sister ends up here far too often, could you tell her to stop being so reckless, even if, in her own words, ‘medical help here is free so I should make full use of it’? I can’t reattach limbs.”

“She’s not my sister, but I’ll pass the message on.” Byleth didn’t even want to consider the first statement, hoping by not addressing it that it would go away.

“Ta. Now, Mr Reigan, what appears to be the problem?” Manuela plopped herself into a wheeled chair, patting the examination bed to her side, indicating to Claude to sit down. He did, swinging his legs over the edge in a manner that strongly reminded Byleth of Sothis. Claude himself glanced to his side as Manuela scooted over and saw smeared lipstick and foundation on the while sheet of the bed, hoping that Manuela herself didn’t notice until she was done healing him.

“My head is pounding. Blunt force trauma. Neck is starting to get a bit stiff, too.” Claude decided not to tell Manuela how or why he was injured.

“Front or back?” Manuela questioned, snapping her examination gloves on and making Edelgard jump before she could betray Claude.

“Back.”

“Got it.” Manuela placed her hand on the back of Claude’s head, chanting under her breath, and a sigil painted onto the glove lit up with a soft white light. As the light dimmed and she pulled away, she asked: “how’s that?”

“Much better, but my head is still throbbing a little,” Claude replied after he rolled his neck to test it.

“Oh, I’ve got _just_ the ticket for that.” Pushing her chair back and rolling over to her incredibly disorganised desk (her vanity mirror thankfully covered with a pair of discarded frilly black and red knickers), she flung the draws of the desk open, rummaged for a short while before rolling over to a small sink and then back to the examination bed, two small brown pills and a glass of water in hand. “Have these. They should take the edge off.”

“Whatever you say, doc,” Claude shrugged, taking the pills and water and downing them unceremoniously.

“Manuela!” An older, pasty man, probably mid-to-late fifties, burst into the room, an incredulous look on his bespectacled face, gripping an empty vial. “Have you been stealing my experimental ethanol again?” His anger subsided slightly upon seeing the others in the room. “Ah, students? Wait, dear Goddess, woman, what’s the matter with your face?”

“How _dare_ you, old fart! My face is immaculate and gorgeous!” Manuela shouted back, rolling over to her desk and whipping the knickers off, freezing in shock at the state of her make-up in her reflection. “ _M-m-my face!_ Why didn’t any of you tell me?!”

“We, we didn’t want to alarm you?” Edelgard shrunk, avoiding eye contact.

“Well, there isn’t anything to be done about it now, is there, Manuela? You’ll just have to clean yourself up!”the man said smugly.

“Piss off, Hanneman! A lady must always have her secrets!”

_“True ladies don’t steal my ethanol!”_

“What the fuck is going on?” Byleth asked Claude, who seemed the most informed of the comings and goings of other people out of the three people she had as options as Manuela started throwing clothes out of her laundry pile at the interloper, the pair screaming at each other.

Claude leant back casually to dodge a pink thong as he explained: “oh, that’s professor Hanneman. Him and Manuela are like cats and dogs; they really like winding each other up.”

“…Is it really a good idea to have two people who hate each other work at the same place?” Byleth ducked to avoid being smacked in the face with a bra that didn't leave much up to the imagination.

“Huh? Oh, no, they don’t hate each other. They’re best friends.”

_“Stop throwing your dirty underwear at me, you harpy!”_

_“Well, maybe don’t throw **your** accusations at me! I haven’t touched your bloody ethanol!”_

“…Really?” Byleth couldn’t believe it.

“Really really.” Claude confirmed, and Edelgard and Dimitri were also nodding, a pair of floral granny-pants dangling from Dimitri's left ear. “They’ll burn themselves out soon.”

And lo and behold, a minute later, they had, both panting. Somehow, during the slanging and slinging match, Manuela’s make-up had fixed itself. Byleth had a habit of disassociating, but not badly enough that she’d miss someone completely repowder themselves. Perhaps she had been concentrating too hard on watching Dimitri fail miserably at dodging stray items of Manuela's underwear, now looking like Manuela's new laundry pile. “Ah, that felt good!” Manuela exclaimed, rolling her arm in its socket.

“Absolutely!” Hanneman laughed. “Aha, is that Jeralt’s daughter? Byleth, correct?”

“…Yes?”

“Can you give me a blood sample?”

“Oh, you old fart, at least tell her why! Look at her! She doesn’t know what to think!” Byleth thought she did know what to think - that this Hanneman bloke was some kind of maniac, possibly a pervert -but her blank face was, for once, a boon rather than a bane.

“I guess that would be appropriate, yes. I am a scholar of crests. I make a request for a small drop of blood off of everyone who attends this academy, and considering your legendary exploits as the Ashen Demon, I would like to see if you have a crest. Consider it academic curiosity. I had seen in the records that your father had one, so the chances of you inheriting it is not unlikely.” Jeralt had a crest? That was news to Byleth. Then again, the point had never come up; having a crest or not was nigh irrelevant in her line of work, with only competence being capable of ensuring your survival.

“I guess it’s fine.” It wasn’t, but Byleth really didn’t want to keep being hounded about it, and any way to avoid unwanted attention further down the line was worth any amount of discomfort in the present.

“Excellent!” _Oh, his eyes are sparkling. Disgusting._ “Come with me, I see no reason to dither.”

“I guess not,” Byleth begrudgingly agreed, dragging her feet as she slowly trailed after Hanneman out of the infirmary into the room adjacent, various scientific instruments that Byleth couldn’t identify strewn about. The three house leaders shuffled in behind them, Edelgard glancing around warily at the various glassware and Dimitri doing a final check to ensure none of Manuela's items of clothing came with him.

“Here, use this on your finger,” Hanneman offered a small, spring-loaded needle linked to a small vial to Byleth, who decided to bite the bullet and shoot it immediately into the fleshy pad of her thumb on her non-dominant hand. She was then surprised that the needle barely entered her skin and did not hurt in the slightest as small droplets of blood dripped into the vial via capillary action. “Perfect,” Hanneman declared as he took the needle back and labelled it with an indecipherable scrawl, before he pointed to a circular device sunk into the floor, barely distinct from the tiles. “Can you stand on the outer circle and place your hand over the central one?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not anything weird,” Edelgard murmured, and even Byleth could see that Edelgard was enjoying her experience in this room even less than she was; perhaps she had a phobia of needles? A sudden pang of unfamiliar empathy for the girl jolted through her, thinking that if she sped up, then Edelgard too could leave quickly, so she stepped up to the circle and did as instructed, unnerved as the device glowed and displayed a pattern of curling, intercrossing lines.

Hanneman became immediately animated, his mouth agape as he considered the pattern. “Oh, this is-! I’ve _never_ seen such a pattern before!” Grabbing a notepad, he started to copy the pattern into it, tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth in concentration as his hand raced across the page, ink smeared across his fingers in his haste. “You may remove your hand now,” he ordered as he finished his diagram with a flourish and Byleth obligingly whipped her hand back as he began his prognosis:

“Well, you have a crest, but damned if _I_ know what it is, for it certainly isn’t the Crest of Seiros I was expecting! I’ll have to get Linhardt to assist me in researching it… I haven’t seen an unknown crest in such a long time!” _Oh, his eyes are sparkling. Disgusting._ “Since the three of you have declined my offer previously, is there any chance I can get a sample from you as well whilst you are here?”

Byleth turned to see all three of her companions retreating into the corridor, all three speaking their objections over each other in their haste: 

“No thanks, teach.”

“I... will pass.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“One day. One day you will participate in my research! But very well. I’ll not force you, as much as that _woman_ over there may call me a ‘mad scientist’ (Manuela made a rude gesture from where she was leant in the doorway of the infirmary) I am not about to break ethics for my own knowledge. You know where I am if you change your mind!” Hanneman failed to convince a single of the three as Byleth rapidly fled the laboratory.

“I won’t.” 

“I am very sorry, but I don’t think I shall.” 

“I will _never_ allow you, nor Linhardt, a singular drop.”

* * *

Finding their excuses, the group jostled away from the corridor before their blood made their way out of them, Dimitri looking at both Edelgard and Byleth with concern as they descended back down the stairs, their path to the cathedral renewed.

“Are you both alright?” he inquired, worry in the lines of his face.

“I’m fine,” Byleth nodded, as the experience, whilst uncomfortable, was not as bad as she was expecting. Edelgard huffed, gripping her arm tightly.

“I’m fine as well. I’m just not fond of needles. Forgive me for worrying you.” _Ah, you were right,_ Sothis gushed. _That’s rare._ Byleth immediately became mildly annoyed. She was right fairly frequently, thank you very much! 

“I can’t blame you. I don’t like them either,” Claude stated, and Edelgard gave him a funny look.

“Claude, you have your ear pierced.”

“I assure you, princess, you can have piercings and hate needles.”

“I’ve always wanted to ask you about your ear piercing, actually,” Dimitri pointed to the gold ring in Claude's ear, causing the latter to touch it as the former continued: “it looks so dashing on you.”

“Wow, you think it looks _dashing_ on me? Thanks, Dimi,” Claude winked and blew a little kiss, and Dimitri flushed, realising how what he said could be misconstrued. The nickname usage flew under the radar.

“I-ah, didn’t mean it in an untoward way! I was simply curious!”

“Why, do you want one?” Claude had begun fiddling with the golden ring in his ear in earnest, that now familiar fox-like expression spreading across his face.

“Oh, gosh, no, I would never be able to pull it off as well as you do. I was just wondering why you yourself got it. It’s rare to see a man with a piercing in these parts; the only other one I know with one is Dedue, and he’s not originally from Fódlan.”

“That’s a funny story, actually. My mom has a similar ring, and as a little kid I really wanted to look like her. So on my tenth birthday, she gave me the piercing since I had been begging for years. I yowled like nobody’s business, hurt like hell!” Claude explained.

“That’s what you get for having something so pointlessly ornamental put into you,” Edelgard said smugly, and Claude raised an eyebrow.

“I’d _love_ to hear you say that to Petra.”

“ _Her_ piercings and tattoos are highly important to her culture. You were a brat who wanted to look like mummy. They aren’t equivalent.”

“Strong words from the princess of an empire that subjugated her culture,” Claude whistled, unbothered by the underhanded jab. He was more bothered about the jabs his mother gave his ear like a woman possessed. Sure, one part of the story was fabricated, but the bit about yelping and his mother being the one to do it was one-hundred percent true.

Edelgard's eyes narrowed, but her voice remained neutral as she replied: “Yes, and you speak for the entire Alliance from your bottom? _Can it,_ Reigan.”

“I always wanted an ear piercing but my dad wouldn’t let me. Said I’d end up ripping it out,” Byleth said, twiddling with her earlobes. Sothis had popped into her dreams with earrings all of a sudden a few years ago, raw opal hoops with so many colours it made a rainbow appear dull, and the little part of Byleth’s brain that liked ornate objects, quite possibly controlled by Sothis herself, wanted a pair too.

“Really? You don’t seem the type.” Claude responded, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

Byleth shrugged as she ceased playing her her ears. “Like I said earlier, even I like to be fancy sometimes.”

“Well, if your dad ever changes his mind, I’m sure I’ll be able to find someone willing to give you an ear piercing. Dimitri too, if you ever feel like being dashing like me.”

“I’ll… think about it.”

“You should, then me, By and you will outnumber boring-shorts over there, being infinitely cooler.”

Edelgard snorted. “Bit old for teenage rebellion, aren’t we?”

Claude wheezed in mock-disbelief in a way not dissimilar to how Manuela would upon being asked for her age. “Hey! I’m only seventeen. I can still have my teenage rebellion. What's the point of going to boarding school if you can't do things that would disappoint the adults in your life away from their prying eyes?”

“I’m twenty. Probably,” Byleth added, surprised by her own participation in this nonsense. The potatoes had an even greater effect on her mood than she had originally thought.

“Ten-teen, that is,” Claude suggested, and Dimitri laughed as if Claude had made the funniest joke possible. Byleth blinked as she realised that the three, whilst still annoying, stuck-up brats, were actually rather entertaining company, if only to watch them interact with one another. _See? I told you that you’re actually a softie,_ Sothis snickered.

As the conversation waned and the cathedral came into view, Byleth was abruptly hit with a wave of potent nostalgia, with memories that she wasn’t entirely certain existed dancing in the pit of her brain as her eyes traced the dramatic outline of the tall, gothic marble spires that climbed their way into white clouds as monks and priests mingled around them, going about their own day. Somehow, the intimidating structure felt like home. Byleth didn't really have a home that wasn't made of canvas. _That’s not just you,_ Sothis wondered. _I know this place too. You were born here, after all, perhaps that’s what is making it familiar, but I cannot say that I am certain._

Byleth swung around in thought as Sothis tried to jog her memory, and her three companions had to dodge out of the way of her pockets. “Can you stop doing that, potato pockets?” Claude half-pleaded.

“Oh. Sorry. I was thinking.” Claude doubted that, somehow. Byleth seemed to have static in her skull rather than a brain, just visible behind the eyes to Claude if he squinted.

“About what?” he asked regardless.

“Stuff.” _Brick wall Byleth,_ Claude thought, not quite curious enough about what she may be thinking about to pry further. As far as he knew, considering her... _odd_ personality, a view of her brain would probably reveal a comic style thought bubble with one large potato being roasted over a fire in it. 

“Helpful.”

“Can we go in?”

“That was the idea.”

“Right. Then let’s go.” Byleth began marching across the bridge over to the cathedral gate, Sothis still trying to organise both of their thoughts as the house leaders were forced to run after her, their legs shorter than hers. As the gate opened, guard nodding at her in greeting, she turned a sharp left on instinct, and was faced with a sight that wracked her emotions and shut out her thoughts.

A pile of cats, all lazing across the warm stone paving slabs in in the afternoon sun, yawning and grooming themselves.

“Byleth, where are you, please- ah.” As the group finally caught up, having missed Byleth turning the corner and having to look around to find her, Dimitri gaped at the sight in front of him, of Byleth lying down in a pile of cats, one lying on her stomach and purring happily as she ran her fingers through their fur. Her face was neutral, but contentment oozed from her as her eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of the sun on her skin and cat in her arms. _Ah, this is bliss,_ Sothis sighed, both her and Byleth having forgotten about the sense of deja-vu completely.

“Oh, wow. I know the cathedral cats are tame, but I’ve never seen them take to someone that quickly,” Edelgard gushed, mildly jealous.

“They must think she’s a cat too,” Claude snorted. “Hey hey, sleepybones, we have a tour to finish. We’ve cut the library out since they’re cleaning it today, so if you manage to make it into the cathedral you should be free to go."

“Don’t wanna,” Byleth groaned, but sat back up and put the cat in her lap back onto the floor. Her clothes were coated in cat hair. She had been laid there for five minutes.

“You know, I know your professional nickname is the Ashen Demon but looking at you now, the last thing I think about is a demon,” Edelgard said, offering Byleth a hand off of the ground.

“The Ashen Kitty,” Claude nodded.

Byleth sulked. “I didn’t come up with the name.”

“What would you call yourself to be called, then?” Dimitri asked.

“Byleth,” Byleth lied, knowing there was a name she really wanted to be called. She was going to keep that little snippet to herself, though; when she had told Leonie the girl had laughed at her for ten minutes solid.

“Boo, that’s boring," Claude pouted.

“Don’t care. It’s my name.”

* * *

The cathedral was as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside, with tinted sunbeams shining through stained glass onto cool, tiled floors and lined with ebony pews carved with tiny, roaring dragons, wings and necks outstretched to the sky. Byleth really liked the little dragons, far more than the sombre marble statues that towered over the atrium as if waiting to spring to life to chastise those who defiled their space. Looking up, the ceiling was not bare as expected, but decorated with a fresco depicting the Saint Seiros, flanked by the Four Saints, emerging from sunlight into a clouded field of fighting, their signature weapons in hand, green hair vibrant against the golden background. The Immaculate One roared in the foreground, every white scale lovingly rendered. Innumerable miniature scenes surrounded the creature, each showing another of the saint’s triumphs.

Byleth thought she preferred Leonie’s art. _Bleeding heart philistine,_ Sothis sighed. _You wouldn’t know true art if it shot you in the rear end._

“…And look! You can see the clash between the Saint and Nemesis right there, though you may have to squint…”

“Aha, yes! I see it now. I’m amazed how this place has things I’ve yet to have seen in here, despite everything. Thank you for listening to my silly little request, Iggy.”

“O-oh, it was nothing, Mercedes. I’ll happily help you with art whenever you wish. Just say the word.”

“So, what was that request, hmm?” Claude waltzed up to the pair discussing the art on the fresco and leant on the shoulders of a short bespectacled boy, who jumped in surprise at the intrusion.

“Claude?!” he spluttered, pushing his glasses up his nose, causing the girl he was with to giggle into her hand kindly, tied blond hair tumbling over her shoulders.

“Oh, I asked Iggy about the fresco and statues since I realised I never did consider them enough for how wonderful they are,” she explained in place of the boy, her voice high-pitched but calm. “He’s been explaining the history to me, too. I couldn’t imagine the amount of labour needed for such a grand artwork.”

“More than I think I’d be able to produce, alone,” the boy laughed, flicking Claude playfully on the nose to get him to stop leaning on him. Claude obliged, leaning back off and allowing the shorter boy to turn around to see the group.

“You say that, but I get the impression that you’d certainly like to try,” Claude suggested, nudging the boy in the arm with his elbow, who ran his fingers through his straw-coloured hair sheepishly.

“Consider me caught. Alas, we can only do what we can do. Who’s this lady with you? I don’t recognise her. I think I’d remember if I had met her before.” _You're a lady now, Byleth, did you hear? It'll be best if you started acting like one, don't want to sour that impression,_ Sothis snarked.

 _Eat shit and die,_ Byleth thought back, and Sothis howled in laughter.

“Yeah, Byleth sticks out a bit. Byleth, this is Ignatz, he’s the one who’s been teaching me how to draw. That there is Mercedes, she’s in the Lions.”

“Hullo. Are you fond of cats, Byleth?” Byleth nodded empathetically, and Mercedes let out a tinkling laugh. “I can tell. Hair really shows on black, doesn’t it? Here,”she reached into the pouch at her hip, pulling out a small bristly brush and handing it to Byleth. “Use that to get the hair off. Ah, but don’t use it on your tights! I wouldn’t want you snagging them.”

“Thank you.” Byleth ran the brush experimentally across her shirt over her ribs, pleased to see the brush working as intended, then used it to clean off the hair from her body, her companions watching a little too intensely for her liking as she bent back to reach the small of her back with little success, her stomach almost completely exposed. She didn’t even know how she’d managed to get hair there. “Is… am I doing this wrong or something? Why are you all looking at me?”

Ignatz blushed immediately. Byleth had already had enough of blushing teenage boys. “I-I apologise! I was thinking that you would make a wonderful model for the art piece I’ve been working on, since you leave quite an impression I would like to capture,” he blustered.

“Ara, I was thinking that I should help you with the small of your back. Here,” she reclaimed her brush and gently, far more gently than Byleth herself would do so, swiped the hair from her back. “There you go!”

“You didn’t need to do that,” Byleth protested, but Mercedes shook her head.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted to. Dimitri, how are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling fine. Is there a reason you feel the need to ask?” Dimitri’s voice came out mildly strained.

“Oh, no reason. I just like to make sure you’re okay,” she replied serenely, her eyes warm but jestful.

Edelgard smiled with a knowing lilt to her lips. “It’s nice you have such attentive retainers, between Dedue and Mercedes.”

“Edelgard, I’m, like, eighty-five percent certain that if you asked Hubert to give you a footbath at 3am he’d do it. With bubbles,” Claude said.

“Debatable.”

“He’d bring pumice to give you a pedicure. Get bats to massage your back. Bring the skull of your most detested enemy to use as a candleholder, full moon visible through the window.”

Edelgard did snort at that mental image. “Jealous, Claude?”

“Nah, but I’d never be able to convince Hilda to do anything. She wouldn’t even turn the kettle on for me to heat the water up if she wanted a cup of tea for herself at the same time.”

“The Goddess herself couldn’t convince Hilda to not be lazy,” Ignatz laughed, miming a pair of twin-tails with his arms. Claude mimed painting his nails, blowing on them and admiring his imaginary work before adding to the conversation again.

“Hilda could convince the Goddess to give her the footbath instead, somehow.”

Dimitri placed his fist in his hands, remembering something. “Baths.” Edelgard looked at him quizzically, before the penny dropped about what he was talking about.

“Oh, we missed the baths, you’re correct.”

Byleth sniffed her armpits again to find her funk, whilst reduced with the change of clothes, was certainly still there. Her hair was so thick she didn’t need to wash it very often, but the tangles within it probably also needed to be dealt with sooner rather than later, especially considering that she could feel a stick prodding her in the neck now she was concentrating. Mercedes let out that little giggle that seemed to be characteristic for her.

“Why, if you want a tour of the bathhouse, I’ll accompany you. Is that alright, Edie?”

“Why are you asking me?” Edelgard raised her eyebrows, her arms folded.

“Well, Claude and Dimitri won’t be able to show her, will they? We can all go in together!” Edelgard froze, eyes wide, flexing the fabric of her gloves by tightening her fists.

“I-I think I shall pass.”

“Hmm? But you always seem so wound up, Edie, and sometimes I think it’d do you some good to relax.” Mercedes batted her eyelashes, which added an unusual allure to her soft features. “Come on. Please?”

“I-uh, well, fine. I’ll come with you, but bathing may be beyond me. I’m not fond of water, even when it’s shallow.”

Claude decided on this occasion to keep his jabs to himself. “Ignatz, what are you going to do?” he asked instead.

“Normally I’d stay and admire the atmosphere a little longer, but I think I’ll head back to my room and grab my paints. I’m feeling rather inspired.”

“I might join you, then. Can you show me how to do that blend you do with the pastels today?”

“Certainly.”

“Oh, we saw Raph and Leonie earlier, by the way.”

“You were at the training grounds? Raph did mention he and Leonie were headed there earlier. Something about training hand to hand.” Ingatz hummed, suddenly thoughtful. "They actually invited me to go with them, but I'm not brave enough for that. Imagine me trying to box Raph? I'd die. I'd just die," Ingatz shivered. Byleth figured that Raphael could snap Ignatz like a toothpick. Byleth figured Raphael could snap _her_ like a toothpick.

“Yeah, uh, I think I'd have declined too. Looks like we’re going to have a bonfire later, if you’re game?” Claude walked in line with Ignatz and Byleth as the group began their journey to the rest of their days away from the cathedral.

Byleth nodded, rapping her knuckles over her overfilled pockets. “Fish. Potatoes.”

“Sausages,” Claude added.

“Sausages.”

“I’m not entirely sure I follow.” Ignatz said blankly.

“You don’t want to,” Edelgard snarked.

“I can bring some stilton, too,” Dimitri suggested, and Edelgard’s nose wrinkled.

“Are you trying to turn the monastery into a biohazard?”

“Well, I- I simply wanted to contribute!”

“Contribute what, a strong cheesy haze? Who roasts a block of stilton?”

“I wasn’t going to put it on the end of a stick in the fire!” Dimitri protested, but was clearly fighting a losing battle.

“Oh, you sure?” Mercedes suggested, a mischievous tone to her voice. “I personally think cremating stilton into a crisp is the only good use of it.”

“ _Mercedes!_ ” Dimitri gaped, scandalised.

“Okay, folks, hands up. Who here likes stilton?” Claude shouted. Only Byleth and Dimitri put their hands up. “Vetoed, Dimitri. No stilton at the bonfire.”

Dimitri spluttered. “I wasn’t aware we were delegating acceptable bonfire foods with the Alliance method, Claude!”

“Hey, I have to get the practice in. Gramps can only hold the fort for so long.”

“Your grandfather has life in him yet, I dare say. I remember last time I came to the Reigan estate he was throwing axes into a tree screaming like a banshee with a grudge,” Ignatz revealed, miming the throwing positions with a laugh.

“You gotta blow off steam somehow,” Claude shrugged, as the group passed the cathedral gates.

“Most people do that with a hobby or sport,” Edelgard sniffed.

“Axe throwing is a perfectly viable sport. Just like sword throwing. I’ve heard some people _really_ enjoy it.”

“Claude,” Dimitri threatened.

“I bet Felix would enjoy a sport like that,” Mercedes said, a spring to her step. Both Claude and Edelgard felt privately vindicated that someone else had independently come to the same conclusion as them.

“Is sword throwing a sport?” Byleth asked. It would do her some good to work on her accuracy for emergencies, and sword throwing seemed a good outlet. As much as Leonie had tried to cajole Byleth into archery in the past and however much Byleth appreciated how useful archery was as a craft (thus why she had suggested it to Hubert) she never had particularly enjoyed it. It had always felt too impersonal to kill that way.

Claude winked. “It is now!”

“I’ll have to practice, then,” Byleth half-joked.

“But you’re already the reigning champion!” Claude gasped.

“I need to protect my throne.”

“From _whom_ , exactly?” Edelgard asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Why, Felix,” Mercedes stated.

* * *

The group continued to talk various degrees of nonsense as young people were wont to do as they walked themselves back towards the dormitories, Claude and Ignatz splitting off with a wave and a promise to meet on the field in front of the classrooms at eight. Dimitri also took his leave, insisting that he would procure some suitable wood and some non-stilton foods (“I’d like to get some cheese for it, if I’m being perfectly forthright. Do you think camembert would be more acceptable?”), making the group dwindle down to only the three women by the time they reached the bathhouse, Edelgard becoming increasingly twitchy the closer they approached.

“Breathe,” Mercedes said softly, and Edelgard near jumped out of her skin.

 _“I’m fine!”_ she squawked.

“Edie, I was the one to suggest this, but if the idea of bathing with me and Byleth worries you so, you don’t have to come in,” Mercedes conceded.

“No, it’s.. I’m.. I’ve just never bathed with others. I prefer other people don’t see my-” Edelgard’s voice came out strained, and her expression indicated that she couldn’t believe she was saying even that much. Mercedes had the aura of a confessional, with no fear of judgement from her angelic visage, so she was easy to be honest with, even unconsciously.

Mercedes patted Edelgard’s arm. “I understand.” Edelgard’s resolution wavered under the touch, and she looked to the two of them with pained eyes.

“I- I don’t think I can bring myself to go into the baths, but I have been wanting to try the sauna, since it’s been strongly recommended to me. There’s outfits they’ve made for them, are there not?”

Mercedes beamed, coaxing her companions inside and into the female changing rooms. “Yes, they do, they keep them in that cupboard over there. They also have wonderful fluffy white towels that I’m rather fond of.”

“Are you allowed to go in without the outfit?” Byleth asked, and Edelgard flushed, especially as Byleth began shrugging her boots off without a care, her shorts a close second.

“That’d be a bold decision to make, considering it’s a _mixed sauna,_ ” Edelgard choked out.Byleth didn’t really see the fuss involving that, considering her own essentially zero interest in the opposite sex. _Most people are not you,_ Sothis muttered. _For the second time today, the Alliance woman? Who fainted? Your fault?_

Byleth pointed to her herself up and down to indicate her point: “I’d have to get the outfit from the men’s changing rooms, and I’m not so precious to not just use a towel.” Especially a nice fluffy towel. Byleth liked fluffy things. “Where are those, by the way?” she asked, pulling her shirt over her head.

“They keep a few fresh ones in the lockers,” Mercedes answered, pulling her own clothes off, rolling her socks down her legs and folding them neatly into her shoes. “I didn’t think about that. They are essentially swimwear, after all, so the bodice would be far too small for you.”

Byleth pulled off the last of her clothing, bunged it into the nearest locker in a great heap and yanked out the largest towel she could find in it, wrapping it around her securely. It covered what it needed to, although the hem skimmed the edges of propriety. “Another reason to look into El’s suggestion, then. I can wear that in the sauna, too. I’d like to spread out my legs without getting banned.”

Mercedes turned to Byleth as she shrugged herself into her sauna uniform. “What suggestion was that?”

“Bikini.”

“Oh, from Brigid? Petra has one, I believe. I’d imagine it’d look wonderful on her,” Mercedes ran a hand down her figure, smoothing the sauna outfit down. “I don’t think it’d suit me as well, unfortunately.”

“Why not?” Byleth asked, as she had no boundaries. Mercedes slapped her plump stomach lightly in response, letting the flesh underneath wobble. “So? You’d probably look cuter in it than I would,” Byleth replied, completely sincere. She’d heard enough people make snidey comments about her figure to know that soft, pretty Mercedes would be more appreciated in a skimpy swimsuit than she would be.

Mercedes ran her fingers through her hair, suddenly shy. “Thank you,” she mumbled. _Byleth, for someone who can barely talk to others without coming out in a rash you’re awfully good at it sometimes,_ Sothis cackled.

 _What are you on about,_ Byleth thought back.

_Oh, nothing._

“Okay, I think I’m ready,” Edelgard breathed, and the pair turned to see her in an oversized outfit, the red sleeves loosely hanging lower down her legs and arms and pooling over her hands and feet, clearly on purpose.

To anyone who wasn’t oblivious. “That’s big on you,” Byleth stated, and Edelgard choked on nothing.

“W-Well, I just took the one from the top, and it’s more trouble than it’s worth to swap _now_ , isn’t it?” Edelgard lied, having dug for this particular suit, keeping her attention during the process pinpointed to the bin and not to the two women stripping next to her, lest Mercedes clucked over her like a mother hen due to her nervousness again. A voice that sounded eerily like Claude laughed in the back of her head.

Byleth blinked. “That’s true.”

“So are we going to go in or what?” Edelgard marched past her companions to the entrance of the sauna, the determined expression on her face somewhat offset by the ridiculously large outfit she was wearing, and gestured for Mercedes and Byleth to follow with a tilt of the head.

The sauna, was, unsurprisingly, hot, someone pouring a bucket of water onto the hot coals in the centre of the pine-walled room just as they entered, a great plume of steam hissing from the mass as Edelgard shuffled herself onto one of the wooden benches furthest from the heat source. Byleth, not really knowing noble sauna etiquette, followed her, sitting a foot away and leaning her back on the wall, relaxing and flopping somewhat as the heat worked her way into her muscles. She’d never really had the chance to really utilise a sauna, but she could definitely see the appeal now, sucking in a satisfied breath of moist air.

“You really are like a cat,” Edelgard said, eyebrow raised.

“She’s a bit big to be a cat. I’d say she’s like a panther,” Mercedes replied, sitting on the bench next to Edelgard.

“Oh? Not a lion?”

“I’m a lion. Byleth’ll only be a lion if she chooses to be.”

“Mrrow,” Byleth contributed, stretching out. Edelgard was suddenly assaulted by a desire to scratch behind Byleth’s ears, which she resisted solemnly as the person who had been maintaining the coals plopped themselves onto their bench, themselves also only wearing a towel, although the total area covered by the fabric was far greater compared to Byleth, who was becoming increasingly at risk of causing a scene as she made herself comfortable.

“So I’m not the only person taking a risk today, huh?” the newcomer laughed in a honey-jazz voice, her brown hair bouncing in a ponytail wrapped in a towel. Byleth didn’t acknowledge her existence as she was too busy dozing off, comfy.

“Oh, hello, Dorothea,” Edelgard greeted. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I’m more surprised to see you here, Edie, honestly,” Dorothea replied, not unkindly. “I thought you had a private bathroom?”

Edelgard tugged her sleeves down a bit further. “Oh, I do, but Mercedes convinced me to try the sauna for Byleth’s tour.”

“Good job, Mercie,” Dorothea whistled, impressed. “I’ve been trying to tell Edie how good the saunas are for, like, a week.”

“Oh! It was Dory who recommended the sauna to you, then?”

“Yes. I admit it, Dorothea, you were right about this one.”

“I’m right about lots of things, Edie, but praise me as much as you want. So this is Byleth, huh? She a new student?”

Edelgard decided that a half-truth would suffice for Dorothea, rather than exposing the possibility of Byleth becoming a professor instead whilst she was so scantily clad. “She’s the daughter of the ex-captain of the Knights of Seiros, and Leonie’s sister.”

“She’s not my sister,” Byleth mumbled, replying on instinct as she wiped some sweat from her brow, pulling the hem of her towel up to dangerous levels.

“Leonie, huh? I haven’t really talked to her much.” Dorothea unwrapped the towel from her head and threw it over Byleth’s crotch to stop the inevitable. Edelgard breathed in relief. 

“Nor have I, but I did watch her throw Byleth here like it was nothing earlier.” Edelgard mimed the action for good measure, Mercedes clapping in delight as she watched.

“Oh, Leo helped me get a wonderful deal on flour and eggs the other day! I’ve never seen anybody use an abacus so deftly,” Mercedes gushed as she stopped clapping.

Byleth’s hands twitched on the word ‘abacus’. _“_ I’m throwing that _thing_ in the bonfire,” she snarled to no-one in particular.

“Are you paying attention or not?” Edelgard sighed. Byleth didn’t respond.

“So, Edie, how do _you_ know Byleth, hmm?” Dorothea leant forwards, her cleavage showing as her expression turned coy. _Damn you!_ Edelgard thought at Claude as well as herself. She really did need to make her fondness of the female form less obvious if Claude had picked it for his basket of blackmail, but she guessed she really had backed herself into a corner by ending up in a sauna with a gorgeous opera star, an earthbound angel and a female adonis, two of which only clad in towels.

But that was beside the point.

Forcing herself to relax despite the circumstances, Edelgard orated the events of the night previous, explaining how Byleth had saved her, Claude and Dimitri from bandits, taking great pleasure in the sudden realisation on Mercedes’ face as she detailed how Byleth had thrown a sword through the bandit boss. As she continued to the recollection of the tour, omitting the talk she and the other house leaders had with Seteth, Byleth started snoring, tactically placed towel thankfully stopping her from giving her companions an unwanted eyeful.

“Has- _has she fallen asleep_?” Dorothea shook Byleth, but Byleth hadn’t had a full night’s sleep, and considering the nature of one thought inside of her head there was no simple way of rousing her.

“Well, considering what Edie’s been telling us, I can’t say I’m surprised. She can’t have slept more than a few hours last night,” Mercedes suggested, repositioning Byleth so she was laid more flat and comfortable on the bench. Byleth mewled, but let herself be moved with no fanfare.

Edelgard huffed. “Neither have I, but you don’t see me falling asleep in a sauna.” As if to punctuate her point, Byleth made a snorking noise, scratching her stomach, pulling the towel just shy of complete exposure.

“I’d complain about her being loud, but honestly the confirmation that she hasn’t just passed out from the heat is good,” Dorothea sighed.

“Still, we should probably get out,” Mercedes stood up and grabbed the bucket of water used to generate more steam. “Byleth, sweetie, I’m sorry,” she apologised to deaf ears before dumping the bucket over Byleth’s head.

“Wha? 'Ello?” Byleth grumbled, eyes snapping open as rivulets of water dripped from her hair down her nape, snorting water out of her nostrils. “I was awake,” she claimed, still too half-asleep to be annoyed or angry.

“Yes, and I’m the Queen of Fodlan,” Edelgard rolled her eyes. “Come on, it’s time to get out. We’ve probably been in here longer than recommended anyway.”

“We goin' in the bath?” Byleth’s eyes blinked out of sync as she dragged herself off of the bench.

“I’m not, but I’m assuming Mercedes is.” Edelgard glanced to Mercedes, who had returned the bucket to where it lived and was nodding in response.

Dorothea raised her hand. “I am too. You certain you won’t come in, Edie?”

“I’ve already toed at one personal boundary today just wearing this, I don’t think I can handle being naked in front of others yet,” Edelgard admitted, making to leave the sauna for the changing rooms, whereas the other women turned to head down the corridor to the public bath.

“That’s fair. We’ll see you later, then?” Mercedes asked.

Edelgard snorted as she paused in the entranceway. “Yes, because someone needs to stop Dimitri bringing cheese.”

* * *

One bath session later and Byleth was cleaner than she had been in months, hair shining and ears ringing from the interrogation session that Dorothea had subjected her to during their bath, partially on why Byleth didn’t keep better care of her body, how did she even _get_ scars like that and partially on the men in the troop and if any of them were available, can you send them my way?

Byleth thought of some of the men in the troop, and quickly determined that Dorothea would eat them alive. Sothis cackled in agreement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Is thar gonna get to t' point?" I hear you ask, far too many words into wandering the monastery. Aye, maybe I will. Maybe I won't. We still haven't met everyone. I know these last two chapters were very dialogue heavy, but the next chapter probably won't be as bad for it. I mean, I hafta write it first - we've officially made it to the end of my backlog from before I realised I should probably finish my degree or summat. Psh.
> 
> Me mam's welsh, and I love me some cawl. My mam and mamgu don't make it with lamb (I didn't realise cawl was supposed to have meat in until rather recently, actually) but lots of extra cheese and dumplings. And then I add more cheese because cheese is lovely-jubbly. [Make yerselves some cawl.](https://www.jamieoliver.com/recipes/lamb-recipes/michael-sheen-s-traditional-welsh-cawl/) I still struggle to not read Blaiddyd in my broken welsh way, not in the canon way. Blaye-vved.
> 
> I know that FE:H have the summer alts and basically all of the female characters have bikini swimsuits (including Byleth), but I can't imagine Fódlan having bikinis normally, thus the more Victorian type swimsuits with no stretch. I'm only 5'8 and *I* struggle to find one-pieces that don't wedge themselves viciously into my arsecrack even with lycra to aid the process; I can't imagine what it'd be like for anyone over 6 foot.
> 
> While I'm here, I want to give a big ol' thank you to everyone who's clicked kudos and given this a chance! I'm aware that I'm a) sucky at writing blurbs (and writing in general, heh) and b) the premise I'm trying to sell ain't everyone's cup of tea. Love you guys :-)


	4. Dreams of Sauin Village

“I still don’t know,” Edelgard muttered through gritted teeth, “why you thought that _cheese_ would be welcome at a bonfire.”

“Soz, boss-leaderwoman, but I think that this was a _great_ idea,” a blue-haired boy refuted, dipping toast into an ash-roasted camembert alongside Byleth and Dimitri, the latter of whom stuck his tongue out at Edelgard triumphantly upon being defended. Said blue-haired boy had shouted his name as introduction to Byleth as ‘Caspar’ whilst dragging an unenthusiastic Linhardt behind him, strong enough to ignore the latter dead-weighting to avoid being moved. That particular lazy kid was now lounging nearby with a book and a skewer of marshmallows, keeping one eye on the fire that was now starting to die off into cinders due to a lack of tending, the logs supplied for the bonfire having run out.

“Yup,” Byleth concurred, savouring the mingling of the crunchy toast and the warm goopy cheese, the combo impeccably savoury. “You should try some, El.”

The bonfire had been decently good, in Byleth’s humble and easily sated opinion, with a multitude of people bringing a multitude of treats to sample and generally leaving her to consume voraciously with gazes somewhere between shock and awe without attempting any real kind of interaction. Sure, it had taken a good while to get the fire started, a short ginger girl with pigtails whooping in satisfaction when she finally managed to make the fire catch the rain-damp tinder with a spell not long past nine, Mercedes applauding her efforts. Said ginger girl (Annette, Mercedes had said) was then immediately corralled away from the fire as she whipped out a sachet of what appeared to be flour from her pocket before she, as Dimitri had said with a voice laden with experience, “sent the monastery up to meet the Goddess.” 

Byleth didn’t see what the big issue was about the cheese. Cheeses weren’t explosive. At least no cheese she had encountered, anyway. And she’d encountered a fair few.

Edelgard made a face. “I’ll pass,” she sighed, observing the mess that was Byleth’s face and clothes, both covered in crumbs, fishbones, powdered sugar and oil as she had insisted on sampling every food on offer, her stomach clearly a portal to an alternate dimension. “Won’t your sweet potatoes be done about now?”

“By,” Casper gasped, “potatoes and cheese.”

“Shit,” Byleth whispered back, before getting out of her low squat to run to her potatoes, foiled and placed in the dregs of the fire, leaving Dimitri and Caspar in their own squats around the camembert, both politely withholding eating any more of the cheese whilst Byleth retrieved her potatoes.

“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert announced, making Caspar swear in surprise and drop his toast on the floor, which he then surreptitiously retrieved and wiped on this trousers to remove the dirt stuck to the butter. “I believe it may be... _pertinent_ to turn in for the night. It is getting rather late.”

Edelgard glanced up at the clear, starlit sky, her breath coming out in white puffs in the crisp spring air as she realised how cold she was with a sudden shiver. “I admit you may be right, Hubert. Shall we head back?” she replied, turning away from Dimitri and Caspar, the latter of whom was taking a testing nibble of his five-second-rule food to make sure it was still edible.

“Of course, my lady.” Hubert glared at Caspar as he spoke, having seen Casper drop, pick up and eat his disgusting dusty toast, but Caspar was too busy wiping sand from his tongue to be paying any attention. _Once again tarnishing the dignity of The Adrestrian Empire, von Bergliez._

“Ah, you’re retiring, Edelgard? Now I think about it, what time is it now, anyway?” Dimitri wondered, tapping a finger against his lips in contemplation. He'd been enjoying himself; as it turned out, Caspar and Linhardt were surprisingly good company and the texture of melted cheese on his tongue always did do wonders for his mood. You didn't need to able to taste cheese to appreciate it.

“Hey, Lin! D’you know what time it is?” Casper nigh-on screeched at his errant friend, who cracked open an eyelid languidly in response.

“If my understanding of the positioning of the stars is correct, I would surmise it is approximately eleven-thirty.” Linhardt yawned, before adding a snide: “far too late for sensible people to be awake.”

“Oi, Lin, are you accusing me of being not sensible?” Caspar snorted, clearly unbothered by Linhardt’s attitude from continuous exposure. No comment was made about Linhardt himself clearly being a hypocrite, as his late night reading habits were relatively unknown to others.

Regardless, a rare amused smile rose to Linhardt's face, relishing in this familiar banter. “When am I not?”

“Anyway,” Edelgard cut in before Caspar yelled some more across the courtyard, some of the other people in attendance now looking quizzically in their general direction, “me and Hubert are _leaving._ I’d advise for you to retire for the night shortly as well; I don’t want to have to rescue _anyone_ (Edelgard and Hubert both gave a significant look to an innocence-feigning Caspar) from Seteth in the morning for toeing the curfew so blatantly.”

“Greetings, all!” an enthusiastic voice with an anachronistic accent called, and the group turned to see a petite girl with curly spring-green hair and eyes accompanying Byleth, baked sweet potato in one hand and a skewered fish in the other with a large bite already removed from it. “I heard you speaking about my brother, Edelgard?”

“Flayn,” Edelgard acknowledged. “I am worried that if we do not vacate promptly that we may incur your brother’s wrath.”

“Wrath?” Flayn hummed, confused. “He’s merely concerned for your wellbeing, you know! Additionally, he retires to bed at 9pm sharp without fail and he will _not_ be popping out of any crevices this evening, despite half you believing he’s some kind of boogeyman!”

“I wish I knew that before,” Caspar stage whispered at Linhardt, who shrugged unapologetically.

“Well, we know now.”

“What were you two up to, if I may be so bold?” Dimitri asked as Byleth squatted back down, passing a sweet potato to both him and Caspar before greedily ripping her own into chunks and dunking one into the cheese. She’d already passed off her promised portions to Dedue (who was hunkering at the perimeter of the space, not joining in the proceedings) and Ashe (chatting animatedly with Claude and Ignatz about bows) so the rest were hers, as far as she was concerned.

“Research.” 

_“U-uh, n-nothing!”_

The pair said simultaneously. Caspar avoided eye contact and further questioning clearly forthcoming from an incredulous Edelgard by bunging his cake-hole with a whole potato, squeaking when the heat of it scalded his tongue. Linhardt did not react outwardly at all at his incriminating friend, pulling a marshmallow from his skewer with his teeth much like an opulent emperor would eat grapes from the vine.

“If Seteth goes to bed at 9pm, how come you yourself are not in bed?” Edelgard inquired, deciding to ignore the antics of her housemates rather than give them the lecture they deserved, if they were doing what she thought they were.

Flayn smiled wide, buck-teeth and dimples on proud display. “Oh, ordinarily I would be, however once I got wind of this event I simply _had_ to attend! I have a soft spot for flame-grilled fish, did you know?” she took another impressively large bite of her fish with that, crunching the bones audibly between her teeth, a look of utter bliss on her face.

“…Right.” Edelgard wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Well, Hubert?”

Hubert’s face portrayed no dissatisfaction. “I am ready when you are.”

“Perfect. Goodnight, everyone.” Pacing away briskly, Edelgard and Hubert quickly vanished into the gloom of the courtyard.

“Tactical retreat,” Byleth muffled sagely through a mouthful of half-chewed food, Dimitri flinching back slightly to avoid being assaulted by crumbs.

“Is that what you’d call it?” the teasing voice of Leonie chortled from behind as she stole a thumb-sized chunk of potato from Byleth’s hands, the latter gaping in annoyance at the loss. Swivelling around in the vain attempt of retrieving her food, she came face to face with her father in addition to Leonie, a fond expression on his face.

“I see you’re enjoying yourself, By. I’m quite surprised, actually, I’d figured you’d be shutting yourself in your room and enjoying some peace and quiet for once, not be out here,” he noted, running his fingers over his beard.

“She’s simple, captain, remember? There’s food here, thus so is By.” Byleth raised an eyebrow, but didn’t bother to defend herself as she was perfectly self-aware enough to know that Leonie was right. The opposite was also true; once the food had run out, Byleth would vanish into the aether as if she had never been here in the first place. “As soon as the food runs out, she’ll be in bed like a shot,” Leonie continued, eerily close to Byleth’s immediately preceding thoughts. _Your sister understands you so well,_ Sothis mocked and Byleth felt somewhat annoyed about being picked on by two people at the same time independently.

“That’s certainly true. Never known someone to be so fond of eating as Byleth is, other than maybe Nauvi.” Make that three people. Byleth was certain that was the definition of betrayal. _Stop being melodramatic,_ Sothis groaned, but Jeralt began to speak again before Sothis could continue. “Regardless, kid. I’ve been thinking about Rhea’s offer.”

* * *

Byleth laid in bed, eyes glued to the ceiling to avoid eye-contact with Sothis, who was floating around just out her vision. “He’s got a point, you know, By,” the green-haired woman sighed, black robes tickling the edge of Byleth’s nose as Sothis dropped down to sit on Byleth's stomach, their phantasmal weight still enough make Byleth wheeze slightly with the pressure exerted. “I think it’s probably the right thing to do at this point in time.”

Byleth huffed. “Yeah, _maybe._ That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Sothis repositioned herself so she wasn't shoving her bony arse directly into Byleth's guts before continuing her case.

“Look, it’s, what, a year? That’s nothing in the grand scheme of things, when you may live for millennia, you know.”

“Millennia? Is that a million or a thousand?” Byleth scrunched her face up; her vocabulary wasn’t noted for being wide, even if Sothis had slowly been injecting some parts of her syntax into Byleth's own over the years.

“A thousand.”

“Ah, okay. Anyway, are you crazy? If I make it to sixty-five I’ll consider that well done - I’ve never heard of a human living for a thousand years.” Sothis did this, sometimes. For someone who boasted and bragged about her skills and wisdom at the drop of a hat, she appeared to have had her common sense surgically removed and would occasionally suggest an idea utterly impossible for a regular, mortal human as if it was no big deal. Byleth wasn't sure what Sothis was but never really did spare enough thought to analyse that normal humans didn't live in people's heads, have pointy ears or crazy time powers, even when Sothis first invited herself to live rent-free inside her brain.

And at this point, eight-odd years down the line, Sothis was just part of the furniture and Byleth really couldn't muster a single fuck to give about what Sothis may or may not be in any serious capacity. Sothis was Sothis. 

“Huh? Really? That sounds… unfortunate.” Sothis draped herself over Byleth like a blanket and Byleth had to bat away the hands that threatened to wrap themselves around her shoulders. Byleth wasn’t as touch-repulsed when it came to Sothis’ cool phantom limbs compared to other people's, but it didn’t mean she was going to let herself become Sothis' teddy-bear. Sothis sulked, but didn’t attempt to hug Byleth again as Byleth replied:

“Not as unfortunate as the idea of living for a thousand years does. That'd get old quick.”

“I guess it would depend on your perspective," Sothis dismissed that thought with a limp shrug. "But your dad's right. It would do you some good to be around people your own age.”

“Yeah, but not teach them!” Byleth thought back to what her dad had said and she thoroughly disagreed with _that_ particular part of his speech. She couldn’t teach anyone anything. She didn’t know anything other than swords!

“You do know this is a school for teaching war, right? You’d be great at that.” Sothis' voice was distasteful, as if she couldn't believe she was even suggesting this as an argument. Sothis had always been adverse to the idea of war, although any questioning into why that was the case ended up crashing head-on into the issue of Sothis' amnesia of events previous to turning up in Byleth's thick skull.

Byleth let out a groan with an entire lungful of air, the noise extending out for nearly a whole minute, Sothis grumpily plugging her ears throughout before Byleth finally spoke again. “It’s too late to think about shit like this. I’m going to sleep,” she decided, feeling the pull in the back of her head telling her to sleep, and now.

“I’ll admit I agree with you on that. Meeting adjourned, then,” Sothis yawned, curling up into the small of Byleth’s back and rubbing her face into the back of Byleth’s neck. “We’ll continue this in the morning.”

Byleth decided not to kick Sothis out of bed despite her mild discomfort with the positioning since Byleth had always thought sleeping on that granite throne a mild form of torture. “G’night, Sothis,” she mumbled, twisting her arm to pat Sothis’ hair comfortingly.

“Good night,” Sothis murmured back, before both fell into slumber instantly. 

* * *

_**14th day, Wyvern Moon, Imperial Year 1171** _

“Dad, why are we headed into Gloucester?”

Autumn had apparently been cancelled this Wyvern Moon, unseasonably warm winds blowing from Almyra bringing a heat that made Byleth want to peel her clothes off, never mind the crisp leaves crunching underneath her feet in a collection of oranges and reds, nor the canopy of the forest dappling the sun. By the sweat-patches on Jeralt’s back, he seemed to feel the same way; neither he nor his daughter enjoyed the heat. “A job. Poachers, it seems,” Jeralt answered, his horse keeping pace with Byleth at the front of the group. 

“It wasn’t Lord Gloucester that gave you the job, was it?” Byleth didn’t like the Lord and didn’t like the idea of helping him. The man was haughty, unpleasant and, very unfortunately considering the former points, incredibly gregarious. Apparently the man had a son only slightly younger than Byleth, but she had never met or even seen the kid as the Lord didn’t want him to keep, in his words, _‘unsuitable company’._ That was fine by Byleth. People and her didn’t mix.

“Thankfully not," Jeralt confirmed, also disliking the Lord Gloucester, if not his money. "The client is the village we’ll be staying in. Sauin Village, it’s called.” Jeralt had already told Byleth this information several times, but her short-term memory issues were familiar to him and the rest of the troop by this point. Ask her in a year and she’d remember every word with eerie detail, but right now it was pouring directly in one ear and out of the other. “I’ve never been before, but I’ve been told it’s a pretty quiet place. We’re being offered free board for our work in return for a discount on our services, soyou’ll be glad to hear we won’t be in a tent for a little while.”

Byleth hummed near inaudibly. “If the weather stays like this, I’d have been fine in the tent.”

“It’s only a heatwave. It’ll soon be over,” Natalia, the troop’s archmage, said in her usual matter-of-fact way, staring up into the clouds with milky eyes. Her cataracts may have made the woman close to blind, but she was a powerful thunder-spell user regardless. “There’s storms in the air.”

“How do you know that, granny?” Byleth asked cheekily, and Natalia grinned her gap-toothed smile, one of her teeth being the casualty of a bar brawl occurring before Byleth was born, before poking Byleth’s arm with a bony finger and zapping her with static electricity. Byleth jumped, but held her tongue and expression as Natalia laughed like a hyena.

“That’s how! Feel that static!”

“Natalia, behave,” Jeralt sighed as he tugged at the reigns of his horse to slow down and check on the rest of the entourage. Jeralt’s mercenaries tended to travel light, picking up and shedding members and equiptment depending on their destination, but the group that had ended up accompanying them today was essentially only the regulars that only left under extraordinary circumstances.

In shorter terms, it meant that the troop was left with the oddballs.

“Are we nearly there yet, Jeralt?” the gruff voice of Akheid complained, longbow tied to his back. Akheid was Dagdan and rapidly approaching middle age, with pale skin and long purple-black hair. He considered himself rather mysterious, suave and dashing, which was a wild misunderstanding on his part; he collected coins and stamps with a fervour generally seen only in zealots. He had once ended up in a fistfight with a magpie for a rare coin and promptly broke both legs when he'd fallen out of the tree he was fighting the magpie in. He couldn’t deny that it had happened, either, because said tree was in the middle of Derdriu and at least a hundred people had watched it happen; he’d ended up in the newspaper the next day, to the great amusement of everyone in the troop sans himself.

“Be patient, Akheid. Haste is the mother of mistakes,” Nauvi, the troop healer, chastised. A teenager hailing from Duscur, she was large in stature, with dark skin and pale green hair, her forearms detailed with swirling patterns of green-inked ivy. Her method of healing was unlike anything else Byleth had seen, based in runes and soft green light, the craft clearly not native to Fódlan. She liked to talk to trees and was a hypocrite to be saying anything about haste to anyone, considering her tendency to run face-first into a fight with her axe without thinking. She was also the only other person Byleth knew who could eat as much as her.

“We can’t be more than half an hour out, now,” Glan signed, his curly blond hair full of leaves. Originally a sword-dancer from Adrestria that performed on the streets of Enbarr, a freak accident involving a flock of sparrows, a wyvern and a cannon had rendered the man entirely deaf and missing the index finger from his left hand.

He didn’t like to talk about it.

“Where’s Sevra? I was expecting her to be back by now,” Glan continued, eyes focused over the top of the tree-line.

“Knowing her, fishing in the town river having completely forgotten that she was supposed to be coming back,” Jeralt muttered, making sure Glan could see his lips. Sevra was the troop’s falcon knight, an ex-knight from the Fraldarius territories. She was an ex-knight due to being fired for her tendency to daydream on the clock, a flaw which wasn’t quite offset enough by her extreme competence in the sky for the archtypically stuffy Kingdom noble she was in the service of.

“And Feathers didn’t manage to remind her to come back?” Glan replied. Feathers was Sevra’s pegasus and the brains of the operation. If that glorious beast had been knighted in Sevra’s place it would have been deserved.

“Feathers tries his best, but he’s no miracle worker,” Nauvi said, signing at the same time. “Does anyone want some jerky?”

“I do,” Byleth slurped immediately, and Nauvi handed her a chunk as they cleared the perimeter of the forest and entered a hilltop field filled with long wild-grasses and dandelion puffs bobbing lazily in the gentle breeze, dyed a warm hue by the reddening late-afternoon sun. Natalia chewed on her own jerky noisily as she pointed across the valley they were overlooking to a cluster of buildings nestled in the shadow of a woodland dominated by large, gnarled oak trees, smoke rising from hatched chimneys.

“Looks like we were closer than we originally thought, boss,” she commented, spitballs of meat ejected out in front of her.

“Close your mouth whilst you’re eating, hag,” Akheid snarled, but yelped like a dog when Natalia zapped him with a weak jolt of electrical magic.

“If you want to talk to me like that, come back in thirty years,” she cackled.

* * *

The group made it into the village just as dusk made itself known, shadows long across the stone-paved flooring of the village square, a pair of familiar figures sitting on a small limestone bridge overlooking a narrow river.

“Hey-o, guys,” Sevra hailed from the end of her fishing rod as the group approached, the glossy black pegasus by her side refusing to look at her and huffing and puffing in annoyance. “Made it just in time for dinner at the mayor’s place. Good job.”

Jeralt dismounted his own steed and gave Sevra a withering look. “Sevra, you were supposed to come back after you’d spoken to the mayor,” he grumbled, yanking the fishing rod out of the brunette’s hands and leaving her blankly staring into the water with her apple-green eyes before she realised where her tool had gone with a start.

“Ah, shit, really? Soz, boss. I legit forgot,” Sevra apologised airily, and Feathers head-butted her with a grumpy whinny. “Ah. Was that what you were trying to tell me about earlier, Feathers?”

A snort, and Feathers trotted off to stand with the rest of the troop, his expression a mirror of Jeralt’s. Byleth sometimes wished Feathers could talk and tell Sevra off himself. He was exceptional for a pegasus, his intelligence oddly human in places, but he was easily frustrated, a poor trait to have when you had air-headed Sevra as your partner.

Then again, you didn’t have to speak horse to tell that Feathers was thought projecting _get off your stupid fat arse and get over here._ Sevra raised her hands to indicate to her pegasus that she had been successfully chastised, raising to her feet and dusting herself down before she leisurely moseyed over to the front of the group, indicating for the troop to follow. Akheid looked like he was going to interject or at least whinge a little about Sevra's attitude, but a sparking cackle from Natalia rapidly changed his mind.

Sauin Village was the sort of place where disillusioned city folk from places like Enbarr and Fhirdiad would dream of retiring to, rose-tinted glasses glued to their faces romanticising the quaint little thatched bungalows, the mysterious and possibly fae-infested forest and the way that the sturdy inhabitants all worked with the land, half farmers and half hunters. Said inhabitants were glad that Sauin Village was too much of a journey for people like that, even if tourist money would have been highly appreciated. They were friendly to the troop hired to help them, though, each villager offering a wave and a smile as they passed, some offering themselves as guides through the forest the next day.

The mayor’s home was one of the very few buildings in the village with slate roofing, the only other examples being the church and the pub. It was also the only building with more than one storey, a clear landmark. Jeralt rapped on the door with his knuckles, and the door was opened by a short barrel-chested man with an impressive beard almost instantaneously. “You must be the Blade Breaker and co,” the man noted. “Come in, come in; my wife has just finished dinner. I’ll get my girl to take your horse and pegasus to the stables whilst you get seated. Oh, but where are my manners? I’m Aubin.” Aubin leant back into the house and yelled: “Kid! Can you take these people’s horses into the stables?”

The sound of feet scurrying down the stairs preceded a skinny young girl approximately the same age as Byleth with long ginger hair peeking around the door, nodding to the group shyly before squeezing through the gap between Aubin and the doorframe and gesturing to Jeralt to give her his horse’s reigns with a star-struck look plastered on her face.

“Byleth,” Jeralt, letting the girl take the horse, turned to his daughter and asked: “could you help? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get your portion.”

“Three times the size of everyone else’s,” Akheid muttered under his breath, grimacing when Nauvi gripped his shoulder hard enough to wrinkle his leather armour in warning.

Byleth blinked before glancing at the girl, who was looking her up and down as if judging her against some invisible yardstick. “Okay,” Byleth assented, and Feathers stuck his head on the top of hers, nudging Sevra into the house with a hip-check and a quiet yelp.

“Don’t be long.” And with that, the rest of the troop piled into the house and slammed the door behind them, leaving Byleth with the ginger girl and a grouchy pegasus.

“Hey, are you coming or not, short-stack?” the girl asked rudely, making Feathers snort. “As it turns out, I’d like to have my tea today, so quit daydreaming.”

“Oh,” Byleth turned to the other placidly, not picking up on the hostility in her companion's voice. “I’m sorry. I’m coming now.” Tapping Feathers’ face to get him to stop leaning on her, she fell into line behind the ginger, who was watching with a quizzical expression.

“Uh, aren’t you going to lead that pegasus along?” she inquired, pointing to Feathers.

“Feathers? He’s perfectly capable of looking after himself,” Byleth replied, and Feathers collaborated with a snort and a slow trot, following after the two girls with no further pestering. “I’m just here to brush Feathers down. He picks up a load of dust when he flies and Sevra’s too much of a slob to care.”

“Huh,” the girl hummed as they entered what must have been an old grain store converted into stables, the musty smell of hay and horse shite heavy in the air. “So, what, you’re the troop lackey? I should’ve expected. No way such an _incredible_ group would have someone like you around otherwise.”

“How do you mean?” Byleth was genuinely confused.

“Well, the Blade Breaker and crew are super duper awesome, right?” _No,_ Byleth thought, but let the girl continue, clearly wanting to gush to someone. “I’ve heard that Jeralt can beat fifty men alone, and that his daughter is some kind of super sword-fighting _genius_! Where is she, by the way? It’s weird that she’s not here with her father.”

“I’m she,” Byleth said, pointing at herself. The other girl didn’t reply for several seconds as the gears in her head were too busy turning.

“Huh?! _You?!_ ”

“Me.”

“Uh, no way it’s _you_. You’re, like, what, _twelve?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re kinda stumpy and chunky.” Byleth had heard that one before a few times. She didn’t really care. She was plenty fit and ate as much as she needed to; if this was the size she’d ended up at, so be it. Byleth wouldn't have her growth spurt and burn off her baby fat for a few years yet, rounded cheeks and limbs emphasised by her short stature.

“Yup.”

“You’re the _Ashen Demon_?!” 

“That’s me.” Byleth had also heard this one before. People were expecting a huge, muscular and scarred combatant whenever they jostled to meet her, only to be disappointed that the Ashen Demon was, well, Byleth. A testament to the point that you should never meet your heroes, or at least that you shouldn't put people up on pedestals. 

“What the _hell_ ,” the girl exclaimed, anger in her voice as she clutched the reins of Jeralt’s horse, _“I don’t believe this!_ ” Trussing up her charge in a stall, she marched over to Byleth, who was searching around for a decent brush for Feathers, and grabbed the collar of Byleth’s cloak, red in the face and fire in her eyes as she got into Byleth's face with a snarl.

“I’m Leonie!” she yelled into Byleth’s right eardrum, straining it close to rupture. _“And I don’t accept you!”_

* * *

_**21st day, Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1180** _

“Dude, get _up,_ ” a familiar voice begged, coaxing Byleth groggily away from a nostalgic dream with a rough shake. “C’mon, it’s like half ten.”

“Nn. Ten more minutes,” Byleth groaned, cracking her eye open a sliver to see a mass of green hair blocking her eyes. Somehow, Byleth had ended up spooning Sothis in the night.

“Nooo, I don’t wanna get up, I’m comfy…” Sothis herself protested, snuggling back into Byleth to punctuate her point despite the fact that no-one but Byleth could see or hear her.

“Ten more minutes, huh?” the voice continued, clearly irritated. “You lazy bastard. _Get. Up!”_

Byleth suddenly became airborne and upside down, as did Sothis due to being locked in a hug with her. “Wha-“ she tried to say, before she crumpled back first into the rug next to her bed, the wind knocked out of her.

“Byleth, what on ear-“ Sothis tried to protest, suddenly lucid, before realising she and Byleth weren’t the only people in the room, Leonie standing over them with Byleth’s sheets in her hands and an amused look on her face. Sothis immediately dissolved into Byleth’s head. _Oi, come back._

“You awake now, sleepyhead?” Leonie asked cheekily. Byleth decided not to dignify that with a response, especially since she was wheezing. “Oh, shit, did I wind you? Sorry," Leonie apologised, although Byleth could tell she was pushing down a snigger.

Byleth didn’t reply, too busy trying to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My depiction of Gloucester is based on the Cotswolds and Gloucestershire, for obvious reasons, with stone structures being made of Cotswold limestone. Saying that, thatching apparently isn't all that popular in Gloucestershire IRL, but Sauin Village has more forests than slate quarries nearby; Wales ain't just over the border here with the Welsh Basin and all those lovely lovely low energy deep ocean depositional settings, so a tiled roof is a bit of an expense.
> 
> In the present day, Leonie's and Byleth support level is A. 
> 
> Comments for daft little ol' me? Golly. Me 'eart's nae made for those. I appreciate them a lot, though! I'll always try and answer with something if I can think of anything vaguely intelligent to say, since they make me go (´,,•ω•,,)♡ whenever I get 'em but always remember I read 'em even if I don't reply. Also, if you see any grammar errors or tense errors, don't be scared to tell me; I'm blind to them in my own writing. The amount of times I'll post something then have to rush to fix a blatant error in my text...


	5. Waking Up on the Wrong Side of Bed

“I already said I was sorry,” Leonie pleaded to a pouting Byleth’s back, as a now dressed but bed-headed Byleth made her way through the monastery to the Captain’s quarters, hoping her dad was inside. Being woken up early for no reason always put her in a foul mood. “It’s not my fault _your_ idea of an appropriate time to get up is past midday!”

“I’ve been having to get up at tits-o-clock for a month on the way here, Leo,” Byleth whined. “Can’t I have _one_ lie-in?”

Leonie rolled her eyes. “Tits-o-clock? So, what, eight-thirty for you?”

“Eight,” Byleth bemoaned.

Leonie raised an eyebrow. “You know I get up six latest, right?”

“Yeah, but you’re,” Byleth gestured to Leonie from tip to toe with her hand, “you’re a nutcase.” Leonie always had been the early to bed early to rise type. _Disgusting,_ Sothis and Byleth thought as one.

“And you’re a few bananas short of a bunch.”

“Touché,” Byleth pronounced wrong. “You’re not going to do that every day I’m here, are you?”

“Depends; are you going to get yourself out of bed?” _Oh no. No no no._ Byleth couldn’t take weeks of being flung out of bed. She'd either end up with a broken neck or breaking Leonie's.

A lamp of an idea lit up over Byleth’s head dimly as she suddenly conceived of a solution. “I’ll pay you to not get me out of bed,” Byleth offered.

That got Leonie’s attention. “How much?”

“Ten gold a day to leave me be.”

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

Leonie leered intimidatingly. “So six-o-clock sharp every morning, right?”

“Twenty it is.” Byleth pulled her money pouch out and passed Leonie two-hundred and eighty gold, which was rapidly sequestered in Leonie’s own pouch. Money well spent.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” Leonie chirped. Byleth wished Anna and Leonie had never met; Anna had taught Leonie bartering far too well and had also brought that cursed abacus into Byleth’s life. She’d break into Leonie’s room and steal it later as revenge; people oft underestimated how stealthy she could be, considering what she looked like, but she was actually fairly accomplished at breaking and entering.

That abacus was toast.

The rest of the walk to the captain’s quarters passed without incident, and Byleth entered the room without knocking upon reaching it, Leonie at her heels. Jeralt was slumped at the desk to the side of the room, chewing a quill as he looked over a pile of scrolls and ring-bound books. “Dad,” Byleth said when Jeralt didn’t immediately notice the pair, pulling him from his work with a start.

“Oh, hey, kids. Sorry, Seteth dumped me about five years worth of records for the Knights of Seiros earlier and I’m trying to make sense of them,” he apologised, gesturing to the pile of papers strewn across the desk. “Alois’ organisation system is completely incomprehensible, so I think I’ll be stuck here for the rest of the day.” He raised a fistful of papers with blue-inked handwriting spread across them, writing both in the lines and in the margins, annotations with arrows pointing here there and everywhere. Some of the ink was smeared across the page, as if written with too much haste. There also appeared to be little smiley faces in places too. 

“So you took the Captain’s title back then, Captain?” Leonie asked, jumping up and down on her toes in excitement.

“That I certainly did. I’m not saying we’ll be settling down here forever, but I’d figure we’d stick here until you’d graduated at the least.” Jeralt decided to abandon the files for a little while, shuffling his chair to face Byleth and Leonie. “Sure, Rhea and I don’t see eye to eye, but you and Byleth are more important to me than her. Byleth just needs to decide what she’s doing.”

Leonie blushed, unsure what to say for a change as Byleth scowled. “I really don’t think I’d be any good at teaching,” she muttered, but was astonished to see Leonie of all people shake her head at that assessment.

“I saw Felix in the training area this morning and he hadn’t gone straight to doing sword katas for, like, the first time ever. D’you know what he was doing? Laps. I’d heard from Sylvain last night that you’d told him to work on his stamina after kicking his ass, so you’re literally the first person I’ve seen manage get through to the guy. Oh, by the way, Sylvain wanted me to tell you that he isn’t a manwhore despite what you’d heard in Remire.”

Byleth couldn't believe that, and vocalised as such: “that’s bollocks.” Leonie shrugged.

“I know, but that’s what he told me to tell you next time I saw you. Anyway, carrying on, I saw Hubert, fucking _Hubert von Vestra_ , the guy voted number one most likely student to burst into flame in sunlight, in the training area with a _bow_ , of all things, and apparently you’re the one who told him to try it! He’s a crap shot, by the way. I helped him for a bit before Edelgard turned up ‘cause I felt bad leaving him to flounder.”

“That was nice of you,” Byleth said, and Leonie folded her arms whilst rolling her eyes, blowing her fringe from her forehead with a puff of air.

“I wasn’t just going to leave him like that, even if he kind of freaks me out. Regardless, my point is that you actually have a knack at teaching this sorta stuff, weirdly.”

“Weirdly? Way to make me feel good about myself, Leo.”

“By, you once jumped through a stained glass window two storeys up to avoid talking to some knight because he started hitting on you.” _I remember that!_ Sothis guffawed. _That wasn’t your finest hour, By._ The troop had to make a hasty exit after completing their task before the lord and lady realised who’d somewhat tarnished the holy ambiance of their personal chapel. Byleth was fine, a few cuts from the glass notwithstanding, as she’d fallen into a convenient pile of manure left directly under the window.

She had to scrub for hours in a freezing stream to get the smell out.

Byleth snorted derisively; she hated people trying to get into her pants and if given the same situation again she’d exit stage window into pile of shit once more. “And? No stained glass windows in class.”

“The point is you’re an antisocial idiot, so you somehow giving good training advice after noting what people need to improve after only a short period of observation is weird.” _She’s right, By,_ Sothis nodded.

 _I’m not that stupid, you pricks,_ Byleth privately fumed.

“So,” Jeralt interjected, noting the stormy look in his daughter’s eyes, “Leo’s basically made my case for me there. I know it’s not your first choice, but like I said last night I think for what it’s worth it’d be a good gig for the next year at least. Just give it a shot.”

“…” Blyeth turned away from Jeralt and Leonie. “I’m going to go talk to Rhea,” she hissed, incandescent steel in her voice. She didn’t get mad often in the slightest, always being a somewhat passive person at heart, but something about this whole scenario when she was already tired and grouchy, something about having a choice like this made for her, assuming things of her, assuming what was best for her, made her… _made her…_

**_Fuck!_ **

“Byleth, wait-“ Jeralt tried to call, realising his mistake too late, but Byleth had already begun pacing with malicious intent out of the room and down the corridor towards the Archbishop’s audience chamber, booting the door open ("Holy _shit,_ By!" Leonie yelled) to a open-mouthed Seteth and a non-plussed Rhea, both sat at the desk with a pot of tea and a tray of baked goods between them. Seteth placed a half-eaten scone back onto a plate to glare irritably at Byleth, wiping the crumbs from his face with his sleeve.

“Were you raised in a barn?! Knock before entering!” he snarled, raising to his feet only to have his wrist grabbed by Rhea, who was smiling serenely.

“Calm yourself, Seteth. I think I know why Byleth is here,” she said, pulling Seteth back down to his chair with a surprising amount of force.

“The teaching job,” Byleth nodded, walking over to the table and taking a pain au chocolat for herself without asking. Seteth seemed as if we was about to protest, but changed his mind upon glancing at Rhea again, who was ever-so-slightly shaking her head at him.

“Yes. I understand that I have given you longer than a day to decide, but it looks as if you have already come to your decision, hm?” The barely-hidden smug look on Rhea’s face made Byleth want to throw her fancy dragon-themed tea set through the window. Rhea was expecting her to accept, _was she?_

Well, _sod her_. _Byleth, I don’t think doing this while you’re angry is a good ide-_ Sothis tried to protest, but the words flew out of Byleth’s mouth before she could finish.

“I’m **_not_** doing it. I don’t want to be a professor.”

Rhea’s face froze.

“D-do you not? But I have heard from several students that they would like you to-“ she tried to suggest, flustered, but Byleth wasn’t having any of it.

“I don’t care. I’m. Not. Doing. It.” _Shove the job up your arse, bitch._

“What do you intend to do, then?” Seteth sipped from his cup, concealing a shrewd grin behind the rim. “Your father is staying. Are you intending to leave without him?”

Byleth faltered, the burning anger that was screaming in her brain reducing to a an irate simmer. “I-“ she started, but Seteth stopped her, putting his cup back on the table, the china tinkling as he did so.

“I’m not threatening you. In fact, I agree with your decision. _Wholeheartedly_.” Seteth tented his hands on the hardwood, tapping the tips of his fingers against each other as he spoke. “I am of the humble opinion that you would be an unsuitable professor. However, words about your combat abilities have been popular around the monastery as of late. _Very_ good words.”

“Seteth, what are you suggesting?” Rhea asked, still pale in the face from shock. She clearly wasn’t used to not getting her way.

“I think Byleth should join the Knights of Seiros, is what I’m suggesting.” Seteth retrieved his hands as Byleth took a bite of her stolen pain au chocolat, needing the sugar to keep her brain working. “She doesn’t appear devout, certainly, but neither is Shamir. She’ll have a reason to remain in the monastery, but won’t be required to teach. Everyone wins.” Seteth flashed a plastic smile that sat awkwardly on his stern features, but Byleth wasn’t the type to notice such things, especially when shoving pastry into her face.

Byleth had to admit that sounded… good, the sudden rage having how passed entirely. She quite liked sleeping in a real bed, when Leonie wasn’t throwing her out of it. And she’d already paid her off for two weeks. _Let me off of your emotional rollercoaster before you pull the lever next time, please,_ Sothis pleaded.

What was worth more, two-hundred and eighty gold or uncertain freedom?

“I’m more okay with that than teaching,” Byleth nodded slowly, making her decision with thought of her lighter coin pouch. “I like sleeping in a real bed.”

“So you’ll stay?” Rhea asked, hope in her eyes. Seteth may have salvaged the situation for her yet.

“Sure, so long as you don’t try to force me to teach.” Having inhaled her pain au chocolat, Byleth grabbed a flapjack and began chewing on that too.

“Oh, you need not worry about that; I respect your decision. Plus, I believe I may have an alternative candidate for professor in mind. Seteth?” Rhea turned to Seteth slowly with an unreadable expression on her face, refilling her and Seteth’s cups from her fancy teapot.

“Yes, Archbishop?” Seteth asked warily, lifting his now full cup for a sip.

A wide, almost demonic and intensely vindictive smile split across Rhea’s face as she leant over the table to grab a croissant, speaking with a teasing lilt to her voice: “since _you_ believe that Byleth was so… unsuitable, as a professor, and that _you_ knew better than I, I am certain that _you_ are willing to accept the challenge of doing a better job than she would have done?”

Seteth spat his drink out.

* * *

_Thunk! Thunk! Clang!_

Byleth tutted as the sword she had intended to throw into the sacrificial archery target (provided to her by a nervously fidgeting Cyril) instead bounced across the sandy floor of the training area, the other two she had thrown imbedding themselves into the white. Not a very good job.

“Um,” Cyril attempted to speak as Byleth retrieved her swords, wilting somewhat under her blank stare when she turned to look at him. “What were you talking about with Archbishop Rhea and Seteth?”

“Why do you want to know?” Byleth asked back, realigning herself into her throwing stance.

“Oh, well… Archbishop Rhea looked real happy when I was in there earlier to clean off her tea stuff. Like, happier than I’ve seen her in ages!” The shyness that surrounded Cyril vanished as he excitedly continued: “I want to know how to make her smile like that again!”

“Spite.”

“Huh?” Cyril was not given the chance to delve deeper into this revelation as the familiar bickering of the three house leaders became gradually more and more audible as they approached the training area.

“I still don’t know what she was thinking, turning down such a good offer-“

“Nah, princess, I think I’m with her on this one, if only for the look on Seteth’s face. Priceless.”

“I have to admit, the prospect of Seteth teaching the Lions… I think I would have preferred- oh! Byleth!” Upon seeing the oblivious subject of their conversation with a cluster of swords in her hand and a raggedy target in front of her, the group decided to surround her.

“…So you took that sword throwing suggestion seriously, then?” Edelgard sighed.

“Hey, why not? C’mon, boss, show us what you’ve got,” Claude grinned, indicating to Byleth to throw the swords. Obliging, Byleth threw her first sword, preening internally when this shot landed into the blue, her best shot so far. Claude whistled, impressed. Dimitri, curious, indicated with a hand not to throw another sword and ran over to the target, gaping when he saw the sword imbedded up to the hilt.

Byleth was throwing from ten yards. How strong was she? Dimitri blushed despite himself; Claude was wrong, and regardless, even _Felix_ would find this incredible! He solemnly suppressed the urge to make a rude gesture at Claude and Edelgard, both of whom were both smirking at him knowingly as he returned, ignoring them to instead speak to Byleth: “you’ve completely impaled the target. I have to say, that’s rather impressive!”

“Uh, boss managed to impale an entire flesh-and-blood human. A target is easy compared to that.”

“Perhaps, but I still find it impressive!”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Edelgard snarked, before watching Byleth whiff her other two swords, the latter going so wide that Cyril was forced to dodge with a squeak, having stood too close to the target in his complacency.

“Shit,” Byleth hissed, “are you alright, kid?”

“I-I-I-I’m o-o-okay!” Cyril lied, hyperventilating, deciding to quickly excuse himself from the training area, possibly to clean the mess in his pants, shouting behind him to please return the target back to where it lived when Byleth was done.

“I think that’s probably enough target practice for today, Byleth,” Edelgard suggested firmly. It was less a suggestion and more a veiled command.

“Yeah,” Byleth agreed, moseying over to the target to begin the process of putting it away. “What are you guys doing here, anyway?”

Edelgard fiddled with her gloves. “We were looking for you; Seteth told us you rejected the teaching job?” she said, wondering how to insert her offer to invite Byleth to the dining room.

She didn't get the chance before Claude spoke. “He was so upset,” Claude giggled, bending down and picking up the sword that nearly impaled Cyril from the ground, rolling the handle around his palm. “Now he’s gotten stuck with the job. Him, Hanneman and Manuela are deciding who’s teaching who later.”

“Flayn’s ecstatic, though. I get the impression that she’s going to attempt to integrate herself into whatever class that Seteth will be teaching. She told me that she’s wanted to be a student here for many years, but her brother kept vetoing it for her own safety,” Dimitri revealed, picking up the other sword. _How old is that girl?_ Sothis wondered.

“Can’t play the safety card as strongly when you’re in charge of the class keeping an eye on her,” Claude nodded.

“Manuela’s almost certainly going to teach the Black Eagles this year, considering Dorothea’s in the class. They used to be in the same opera company,” Dimitri explained for Byleth’s benefit, not realising that Byleth had met Dorothea already.

“Yeah, Dory mentioned that when we were in the bath yesterday. The Micklefranz company, right?”

“Mittelfrank,” Edelgard corrected.

“Yeah, that,” Byleth responded dismissively. “So what class do you think the other two’ll pick, then?”

Claude made to speak with his ideas, but was cut short by Leonie running into the training area like a bat out of hell, making a beeline straight to Byleth; someone must have tipped her off about where Byleth had gone. “Pissing _hell_ , By, did you really have to go and kick the Archbishop's door in; the captain’s beside himself. What did you even _do_ in there?!”

Byleth shrugged, unbothered. “I told Rhea to shove the job up her arse. Not in those exact words, but I was thinking it. Anyway, I’m a Knight of Seiros now.” _You're missing out several key points from your explanation, there,_ Sothis mumbled.

“You wha- By, what the _fuck!_ ” Leonie looked about ready to pull her hair out in frustration. “You do know Rhea’s one of the most powerful people alive in Fódlan, right?!”

“Eh.”

“Eh?! How do you always get away with this shit?!” Leonie growled, before putting her head into her hands, forcing herself to calm down, knowing that Byleth didn't have the social skills required to get the benefit of a chewing out, especially when the scenario seemed to have worked in her favour. “Fine. _Fine!_ So you’re not a professor, then?”

“Nope.”

“But you’re staying here?”

“Yup.”

“Great,” Leonie drawled. "In which case, you’re helping me with the matriculation battle for making me nearly shit myself. Otherwise you’ll need to give me thirty gold a day for me not to get you out of bed.” Leonie gave one of her patented looks that screamed _or else._

The house leaders immediately reacted to this request, Edelgard and Dimitri clearly upset with the idea and Claude grinning like a maniac. “You can’t just-“ Edelgard started, but Claude cut her off.

“Now, now, this isn’t our decision to make. It’s the boss’.”

“Easy for _you_ to say, when-“

* * *

_**Earlier…** _

“So. I assume that you’re all wondering why we have summoned you here today,” Seteth started, a pained expression on his face, arms folded, Rhea standing behind him beaming like the sun in the Blue Sea Moon.

Claude really wanted to say something smarmy, but, unlike Byleth, he did have a mite of respect for the Archbishop of the largest religion of Fódlan. Not an awful lot of respect, certainly, but enough to know that if he put too much of his foot out of line he was likely going to be found floating lifeless in a river somewhere nearby, Heir of the Alliance or not.

Claude was unaware that Edelgard was going through a similar internal debate, albeit her respect for Rhea was so low it was essentially underground, sitting somewhere between the plumbing and the Abyss. She really did need to come up with an excuse to speak with the leader of the Ashen Wolves at some point…

“Yes. I imagine it is rather important, considering we were summoned with some haste?” Dimitri replied for the three of them, having no internal debate over respect going on in his head.

“You are aware of the mercenary you showed around the monastery, yes? That was intended to become a professor?” Seteth started, not being aware that Byleth had grown on the three despite her antisocial ways - the woman was bizarrely charismatic for someone whose hobbies consisted of fishing, sleeping and avoiding difficult human interactions.

“Byleth? Yeah, what about her?” Claude answered, not liking where this was going.

“She… declined the offer.”

Edelgard wondered why Rhea looked about ready to float up to heaven on a cloud of happiness if that was the case, but bit her tongue. She couldn’t make her distaste of the woman too obvious, not when she was in the position she was in. After all, she could easily guess why Rhea wanted the mercenary around desperately enough to make her a professor, after seeing _that_.

“Did… did she now?” Dimitri mumbled, drooping. That was not what he was hoping to hear; no, what he wanted to hear was Byleth taking the job and choosing to teach the Blue Lions, as selfish as that may be. Unfortunately, it clearly was not to be.

“However, she will be remaining here as a Knight of Seiros, so if you wish to attempt to get her to tutor you individually, then by all means. Do try and be subtle about it, though.” Seteth considered himself rather accomplished at reading all kinds of people, considering his past, and even if Byleth was almost entirely deadpan he did notice that she was unhappy not with the idea of teaching, but rather the fact that she felt cornered into doing so.

A feeling that Seteth now sympathised with.

“Hey, uh, if boss isn’t going to be teaching, then someone else will have to, right? Are you going to be able to find another professor at this short notice?” Claude asked, not unreasonably, and Rhea was the one to answer this time, a singular small chuckle emerging from her throat before she spoke.

“You needn’t worry yourselves about that. You are looking at Byleth’s replacement,” she simpered, pointing at Seteth, who was blatantly considering throwing himself through the ornate glass window, staring at it with a complex expression.

The words took a few seconds to sink in before pandemonium broke out, the house leaders gaping at the man. _“Seteth?!”_

Seteth grimaced, swallowing down the mild hurt at the surprise of the three. “Yes, I will be teaching one of your classes. Hanneman, Manuela and I will be meeting later to discuss whom shall be teaching whom, so in most likelihood you shall know which professor you will be receiving tomorrow morning.”

“That is not the only reason we have summoned you here,” Rhea added before the house leaders could ask any more questions. “Yes, Byleth will not be teaching. However, that does not mean you cannot ask her for help on assignments. That includes the battle next week.”

“Wait, we can ask Byleth to help? But any class that gets her aid will have a significant advantage over the others!” Edelgard exclaimed, and Rhea smiled again.

“Consider it training. As leaders, you will need to learn to utilise your charisma to recruit and command allies. Getting Byleth to join your cause is a good start.” Perhaps pitting the three that would become the de-facto leaders of the countries of Fódlan could be considered an unwise move, but Rhea, under many names, had done so many times to great success. Competition was the seed of growth, her mother had once told her.

Rhea couldn't remember the look on her mother's face when she'd said that.

* * *

“-you’re the one that benefits!” Edelgard spat, her plan of getting Byleth into the dining room and winning her heart via her stomach now in the balance. Unknown to her, Dimitri had essentially devised the same plan. Byleth was, after all, a stomach with legs.

“Now, now, luck is as much a part of war as diplomacy,” Claude bullshitted; he’d planned for this as soon as it was revealed that Byleth was an allowed unit. Leonie was the person that Byleth knew best in the student population; if she asked for help, then it was unlikely that Byleth would refuse.

The fact that Leonie had asked without any prompting from Claude was a bonus.

All the house leaders held their breath as Byleth paused and ruminated on her options, mostly being decided by a one-hundred and forty gold deficit that would occur if she rejected Leonie. “Fine,” she decided, “I haven’t been able to fight with you for ages anyway. It’ll be good to see how you’ve improved.”

Edelgard and Dimitri groaned as Leonie and Claude whooped. “Alright!”

“Are you children quite finished?” A well-built man with long ice-blonde hair and a mask firmly attached to his face drawled, boredom clearly penetrating through his voice. “If so, it is time for you to leave.” A tanned girl with fuchsia hair tied back in a system of elaborate braids stood behind the man, waving cheerfully to the group. A geometric pink tattoo ran along her left cheek, outing her as a non-native of Fódlan - tattoos were often frowned upon on most of the continent, and facial tattoos even more so. 

Dimitri looked chastised, being the only one in the group to be so, with Claude, Leonie and Edelgard waving at the girl and Byleth too busy attempting to collapse the target to carry to the training area’s shed and failing. “Ah, Jeritza, Petra, I apologise. We shall get out of your way as soon as we have cleared up the space.”

“There no problem that you need to be apologising for,” the girl, assumably Petra, said in a thick brigidese accent, an accent that Byleth hadn’t heard for a while. “I see hungry girl with you. I have not been having the opportunity to be speaking with her by this time.”

 _That’s definitely you she’s talking about, By,_ Sothis poked, and Byleth acquiesced to the unsaid command. “I’m Byleth,” she introduced, finally managing to get the protesting half-rusted joints of the target’s legs to grind their way to the folded position with a bit of "gentle" persuasion. “Um, you’re Petra, right? The one who gave me those lime and chilli prawns last night?”

“That was I and that is name. Did you like?” Petra walked over and yanked the shed door open after watching Byleth pick up the target and attempt to open the shed one-handed unsuccessfully. Jeritza simply leant at the edge of the area, not speaking or offering help.

“Yeah, they were good. Tangy.” Despite accusations, Byleth did taste the food that went into her mouth before swallowing. She just had a broad range of culinary preferences. In that she basically liked everything.

“I have happiness to hear that! If you want I make more food like? It good to see person with great appetite,” Petra suggested as Byleth shoved the target into the most easily accessible appropriate space, dusting her hands off on her shorts after cramming the thing in and letting Petra shut the door as Dimitri and Claude took the swords back to the weapon racks, Edelgard giving a withering look to a bored Jeritza.

“I will never turn down food,” Byleth stated, stomach growling at the thought of food. It was getting to lunchtime.

Leonie nodded empathetically. “Yeah, she really won’t. One time I watched her eat a boiled pair of horse-“

“Are you finished now?” Jeritza called, clearly having reached the end of his patience. “If you wish to stay, draw your weapons. Otherwise, _get out._ ”

* * *

“So why have you dragged me here?” Byleth asked, grumpily hopping on one foot as she picked at a chunk of horse shit that had gotten lodged in the sole of her boot as she made her way through the monastery stables, horses whinnying for their attention.

“You still owe me and the Captain for scaring us like that,” Leonie explained, patting several of the horses’ noses affectionately as she passed. Several of the horses spat in Byleth's direction whilst Leonie wasn't paying attention - the beasts and Byleth never seemed to mesh. The only horse-adjacent creature that had ever tolerated her for more than the bare minimum of interaction and care was Feathers, and it turned out there was a reason for that.

“I thought I was repaying you by joining in that matericlation thing.”

“Matriculation. And you’re repaying _me_ with that, not the Captain. You’re repaying the captain by cleaning out Horse’s stable.” Jeralt had asked Byleth to name his now ageing mare when his last horse had been killed; Byleth, lacking imagination, had decided to go down the literal route, not realising that if the suggestion had come from anyone other than her it would almost certainly appear satirical. The name stuck, regardless.

“Did you actually ask him first or did you just assume he’d want me to do this?” If it was the latter, it certainly would not have been the first time. 

“Uh, I’m his number one apprentice? I didn’t need to ask?” Leonie said as they approached the aforementioned stable box, as if Byleth was being an idiot.

Byleth narrowed her eyes as she gave up cleaning her shoe, stomping the foot wearing it into the floor harshly. “I’m his fucking daughter and I disagree,” she disputed.

“Just clean the stable, By. Or it’s forty gold per morning,”

“ _Fort-_ d’you think I’m made of money, Leo?” Byleth grumbled, understandlng she’d been checkmated with ease. Leonie grinned with too many teeth as she passed Byleth a pitchfork, excusing herself with a victorious little wave. _Arsehole._

 _Ah, sisterly love,_ Sothis sighed.

 _And you can fuck off too,_ Byleth thought back as she prepared herself for the job she had been blackmailed into doing.

“Hello there on this wonderful sunny day, Byleth! What brings you to the stables? Are you thinking of departing for a ride? If so, I shall accompany you gladly!”

 _No. Oh no no no._ Byleth recognised that voice. She’d been trying to block it out of her memory since last night. Byleth craned her neck around slowly, cold sweat rolling down her back, to face the source of the voice, hoping she was mistaken.

It took a significant amount of self control to not groan externally when she found out she was not, as Ferdinand von Fucking Aegir was stood there, proverbially glittering in the sunlight like some sort of orange disco ball.

Byleth had three broad groups of people she couldn’t deal with: the ones who hid their true intentions, the far too cheerful type and the self-assured noble. Ferdinand the First Fucker of the Black Eagle House was two out of three, as Byleth had unfortunately found out in great detail last night; he had cornered and then talked at Byleth for nearly twenty minutes, the self-aggrandising topics he spoke of clearly intended to give a good impression. She owed Hubert for distracting him long enough that she could hide from him in the nearest bush until he had gotten bored of trying to find her and retired to bed.

Byleth now knew Ferdinand’s shoe size (nine), favourite breed of horse (dales pony) and family history going back three generations. She’d know ten if Hubert hadn’t started insulting Ferdinand’s oration abilities.

“Byleth?” Ferdinand asked when Byleth didn’t reply, tilting his head to the side charmingly, freckled cheeks glowing in the midday sun. 

“I’m cleaning.” Byleth tried to psychically will Ferdinand away.

“Ah! Would you like a hand?” _Shit, didn’t work._

“Nah, I’ve got it.” _Please go away._

“Oh, but I insist! What sort of noble would I be if I didn’t offer a helping hand to those in need?” Ferdinand exclaimed, grabbing a shovel with a blindingly sincere smile.

The handle of Byleth's pitchfork made an ever-so-slight splintering noise as she gripped the handle hard in despair. _Sothis, please, do something, turn back time to before he was here so I can hide or something!_

 _Oh?_ Sothis replied airily. _I remember you telling me to fuck off._

 _I am begging you,_ Byleth thought back.

 _I am not bending the rules of reality just so you can abscond from an annoying noble,_ Sothis sniffed.

“Um…” a timid voice called, interrupting Byleth’s and Sothis’ internal argument. “Ferdinand, sorry… I was wanting to ask you, does Josie prefer oats or carrots?” Byleth calmed down just enough to notice that a girl with periwinkle-blue hair tied into pinned-up french braids and bags under her eyes that put Seteth’s to shame had leant into the stable, a bundle of carrots cradled in one arm and a hemp sack presumably filled with oats in the other.

“Ah, Marianne! Good of you to ask! Josie likes her carrots, but if you want to give her one I shall come with you; she is not awfully good with strangers. Byleth, I will return shortly to aid you,” Ferdinand replied, leaning his shovel on the wall before exiting the stable and walking past the girl, Marianne.

Marianne paused for a second to look Byleth in the eyes, a kind of antisocial understanding connecting them on a subconscious level. _“Run,”_ she mouthed, before taking her leave to feed what Byleth assumed to be Ferdinand’s horse.

Byleth didn’t need to be told twice, counting to ten before dropping her pitchfork and sprinting out of the stable in the opposite direction that Marianne and Ferdinand had gone in. _Sorry, Horse,_ she thought. _I’ll come back later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of my metaphors, rollercoasters and disco balls exist in this world. One of those rollercoaster things with the disco stuff inside will turn up at the monastery in the near future in one of those drive-up-and-build carnivals you get on your local field whenever people feel like seeing mud tracked halfway up the pavement. They had one on the park near my uni after the winter storms; I don't think there was any grass left after they went. Made walking to the pub entertaining (sliding rather than walking may be a more apt description, honestly).
> 
> I do like Ferdinand, I do, but the way I'm characterising Byleth she really can't handle him. He's the guy at the party who corners you at the buffet table trying to talk to you when all you wanna do is eat mini cheese and onion rolls. Or maybe that's just me and my lust for little pasties. Anyway, welcome to one of our major convergence points! Amazing what being woken up too early does to a person, huh?
> 
> EDIT - As I've mentioned before, I have a tendency to hit post then immediately go 'ah shit' since despite reading out the text to myself several times before actually posting, I'll have multiple sentences that have no intention of following the rules of the English language. I've already modded this chapter four times today since posting it in the morning! But what I'm saying is if you see the word count jump around a bit that's why. It's because I'm dumb. Beta readers are for intelligent people and unfortunately I have not been learnt reyt and know nowt. I think I've fixed it now, which mean that I'll have changed it again another three times by the end of the week, guaranteed. Also I've added the banter tag now, because cheeky banter innit.
> 
> Don't worry, if I change any of the posted chapters in a major way I'll let you know. I've only been fixing errors, not changing the story.


	6. Alliance-Typical "Concordance"

Byleth never did make it back to clean Horse’s stable, having completely forgotten about the task at the first convenient availability; she instead used the time to unpack her belongings and pin Leonie’s art onto her room's corkboard with a dopey smile plastered on her face. She'd forgotten about the kitten painting.

This lack of responsibility failed to backfire on her as Ferdinand had decided to clean the stable for Byleth anyway despite her abrupt unexplained absence, being an overall good guy, and Leonie had assumed Byleth was the one that had done the task, commenting on the surprisingly thorough job “ _Byleth_ ” had done during during dinner later that day between bouts of shovelling food into her mouth at a rate of knots.

Byleth decided not to correct Leonie’s assumption, especially when the ovens in the kitchens spontaneously erupted into green flame and the mess hall filled with violet-tinged-and-scented smoke. The unbothered nature of the other diners expressed the sentiment that this kind of event was fairly common, with a water spell being thrown promptly over the blazing appliance and a somewhat singed Annette and Ashe by a resigned cook, leaving both looking like drowned rats.

A raised eyebrow aimed at Leonie was met with a shrug. (“Cooking lessons?” Leonie suggested the next day when fizzing pink foam that smelt vaguely like strawberry surged from the kitchen across the floor of the mess hall like a flood with only a call of “oh dear,” from Mercedes for warning.)

Byleth spent the next week slowly coming to terms with the fact that she wasn’t going to be going anywhere soon; it was an unusual, unpracticed way of life for her, being accustomed to being able to be her usual, unsociable self with the expectation that any slight or social faux-pas would rapidly be undone by the fact that she wouldn’t be around long enough for it to matter. Even within the troop, members came and went with such regularity that any members that Byleth rubbed off the wrong way were soon gone.

It mattered now, and it was stressing her out.

This stress lead her to the training area to throw swords whenever Jeritza wasn’t around to complain about it more than once, the sacrificial target now looking like some sort of garishly coloured swiss cheese. Considering the gaunt look to Seteth -now the professor of the Blue Lions - whenever she happened to see him, Byleth thought it would probably do the man some good to find a decent stress outlet himself. Unknown to her, Seteth screamed into his pillow on a regular basis.

The days following Byleth’s induction to the monastery blended into comfortable regularity: waking up hugging Sothis ( _For someone who claims to dislike human contact, you are rather cuddly,_ Sothis yawned several days into this treatment), breakfast, going to the Knight’s barracks to spar, lunch, throwing swords, lunch two, patrols, dinner with Leonie, helping clean the mess hall after Annette produced a cooking disaster alongside whomever had been roped into teaching her that day (usually Mercedes or Ashe, with Dedue being the victim once), dessert, fishing, bath then one last quick patrol before collapsing into bed.

It wasn’t… unpleasant, per se, simply different. There were little variations here and there, with an angry Felix challenging her to an ill-advised highly public sword duel one day (which he lost, badly), to another where Ashe gave her a huge, magic-sealed container filled to the brim with cawl, satisfaction in his eyes, to an unseasonably warm sunny afternoon where Claude caught her snoozing with the cathedral cats, a flighty violet presence fleeing from the scene with his interruption.

The house leaders in particular seemed insistent on befriending her, something she wasn’t sure she understood the intent of, considering she wouldn’t particularly want to be friends with herself if given the choice. Dimitri had started joining Byleth for her sword throwing (although he was pursuing the more sensible throwing option of javelins), Edelgard often materialised at the sparring sessions in the mornings to watch and Claude would accompany Byleth on the last patrol of the night, talking her ear off about the events of the day as she nodded along, only half-listening.

She was even more surprised to realise that she legitimately liked the three and was starting to think of them as ‘friends’ in her head.

Even Claude.

She must be getting soft.

 _That’s not necessarily a bad thing, By,_ Sothis had said in response.

* * *

_**30th Day, Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1180** _

Byleth awoke to Leonie sitting on the edge of her bed cross-legged, skimming through a small book in her hand that Byleth recognised as Leonie's dog-eared training journal. “Hey there, sleeping beauty,” the interloper greeted as she felt Byleth stir and groggily sit up, Sothis dozing curled up on her hip unseen.

Byleth didn’t understand the mechanics involved in making it so others could not perceive the bulge where Sothis lay under the covers, but was grateful nonetheless; explaining why there was a beautiful half-naked woman in bed with her would’ve been… tedious, to put it lightly. She would simply have to kill Claude if Sothis spontaneously became visible. She'd rather be hunted down by the Alliance than deal with Claude asking questions about her (non-existent) sex life.

“You ready to kick some Lion and Eagle ass today?” Leonie continued, snapping her journal shut and leaning back onto the wall with a grin.

“Nn,” Byleth mumbled, wiping the sleep from her eyes, “not right this second?”

“You know what I meant. Also,” Leonie gestured to the paintings pinned to the corkboard with a cocked thumb, “you still have those?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I? I love your art, you know that. How come you stopped?”

Leonie laughed, only somewhat sadly. “You know why I stopped. I’ll assume you’re the one who told Claude I can draw, then? He’s been harassing me all week for a painting.”

Byleth winced in sympathy. “Sorry, I didn’t realise he’d bother you about it. I only mentioned it since he said he was getting lessons from Ignatz, then he saw the paintings on the board.”

Claude had sauntered into Byleth’s room uninvited several days ago after accompanying her as usual on night patrol and had immediately gravitated to the scraps of parchment on the board, the illustration of Sothis especially, declaring the paintings to be far better than he was expecting. Byleth was irritated on Leonie’s behalf. ( _“I told you she was good, did you think I was lying?”_ she had groused.)

“Nah, nah, I told him I’d do it if he paid me for it. ( _Predictable,_ Sothis murmured into Byleth’s sleep-shirt.) So now I’m doing a commission for him; Ig’s been lending me his stuff for it since he owes me for fixing his bow a couple weeks back.”

“What’d gobshite ask you for?” Byleth stretched out her arms above her head, letting out a pleased groan as her sleep-addled shoulders popped.

Leonie waggled her finger mysteriously. “It’s a surprise.”

“Not sure if I trust that, but alright,” Byleth yawned nonchalantly, before rolling over and dragging herself out of bed, Sothis whimpering at the loss of her heat source. “So, breakfast?” she asked as she tugged her sleep-clothes off over her head and began rummaging butt-naked for her underwear in her closet. Nothing that Leonie hadn’t seen before.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Leonie laughed, throwing an undershirt at Byleth's head.

* * *

“Okay, gang, roll call!” Claude yelled through cupped hands at the group of students plus Byleth gathered in front of him, the brisk breeze on the exposed hillside they were mingling on blowing his braid about wildly. “Hilda!”

“He-re!” a pretty girl with long pink twin-tails replied, grimacing as a sudden gust batted her hair into her face and stuck it to her lip-gloss.

“Ignatz!”

“Here!”

“Leonie plus Byleth!”

“Here and here!” Leonie yelled, ramming an unenthusiastic Byleth’s hand into the air, Byleth's free hand shoving a buttered croissant into her mouth.

“Lorenz!”

A lanky boy with a bizarre asymmetrical purple bowl-cut and a sharp beak-like nose harrumphed in response: “hmph, I still think that I should be leading this-“

“Lysithea!”

“Here, I guess,” a slight albino girl with long fluffy hair sighed as Lorenz opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

“ _Now_ , Reigan, you’re being incredibly rud-“

“Raphael!”

“Aye, Claude!”

_“Stop cutting me o-“_

“Marianne!”

“Ah, here…”

“This is not appropriate behaviour for the so-called Heir to the Allianc-“

“Lorenz?” Claude interjected with a syrupy tone and a wide smile that didn’t make it to his eyes.

“Yes?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Claude was a diplomat by nature; however, few phrases could match the power of a to-the-point 'shut the fuck up', especially against someone with illusions of grandeur over their own intelligence that was looking to test out their favourite long words in an slanging match. It was a rarely used card in Claude's arsenal, considering himself of ready wit, but it always did wonders against Lorenz, who was snotty enough to hate it but completely aware of the fact that Claude had the higher social standing ( _for now,_ Lorenz would grumble to himself whenever he lost a debate such as this) and that Claude got final say.

Leonie and Hilda cheered, then high-fived the other when they realised the other gained great joy at the puce on Lorenz’s face. “How dare you speak to me with such a vulgar tone!”

“Hey, Lorenz,” Hilda simpered, flattering her eyelashes and swaying her hips alluringly side to side as Leonie hid a snort behind her hand, shaking in mirth.

“…Yes, Hilda?” Lorenz acquiesced, clearly struggling to stop his eyes gravitating towards her body. The guy must have a weak spot for cute girls, which Hilda was an archetypical example of.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Leonie wheezed in delight, tears in her eyes, hunched over with her hands on her knees as Lorenz finally relented in shame, tsk-ing and glaring at Claude.

“Thanks, Hilda, you’re the best vice-leader a guy could ask for.” The fact that Claude had only selected Hilda, the laziest girl in existence, to be vice-leader to piss off Lorenz was left unsaid. Sure, the girl was one of his closest friends, but he wasn’t blind to her faults.

A wolfish grin and a raised peace sign. “Aw, anytime.”

“Right. So, the plan.” Claude pulled out a roll of parchment stowed in his quiver, squatting down and rolling it out onto the grass. On the paper was a map, with arrows and symbols in a rainbow of colours that were utterly incomprehensible to Byleth. “The first thing I’m thinking we should do is take out the students that are tactically minded. That’ll be Hubert and Sylvain, for the record,” he said, pointing to two symbols across the map from each other.

“ _Sylvain?_ You have to be joking,” Lysithea sniffed. “He’s nothing but a…”

“A manwhore?” Claude finished, and a breathless Leonie let out a weak guffaw.

“I don’t use language like that, but yes.”

“I’m not going to deny that, but if you think Sylvain is an idiot you’ve fallen for his tricks. He’s got the sharpest tactical intellect in the Lions by a long shot.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because Claude keeps getting his ass kicked by him in chess,” Hilda revealed, and Claude gasped dramatically, gripping the fabric laid across his heart as if stabbed.

“I’ve lost twice! I have a good three win lead on him!”

“Those two losses were in a row, golden boy.”

“Okay, okay, we can discuss my chess record later. Anyway, we should take care of those two first, Hubert especially since he’ll almost certainly try something underhanded, so the quicker we take him out the less advantage we’ll cede to the Eagles. After that, we should try and eliminate the more wild units who won’t care about a loss of leadership.”

“Felix?” Ignatz suggested, and Claude nodded.

“Bingo. Petra’s also a concern. At least Felix will probably try to fight Byleth as soon as he sees her, so we’ll use her as bait to make sure Felix doesn’t rip the rest of us a new asshole.”

“Uh?” Byleth contributed intelligently. “Me?”

“Yeah, you, boss. You think you can kick Felix’s ass a third time?”

“Fourth.” Felix had challenged Byleth again during the morning sparring the day before to little success; she was surprised to hear that Claude gossip-hound Reigan hadn’t heard about that yet.

“I’ll take that as a ’ _yes sir_ ’.”

“When would _I_ ever call you sir?” Byleth blurted without thinking. Something about Claude always made her a bit snarky.

Claude’s expression scrunched up, but only for a second. “ _Why_ , whenever you think I deserve it, Miss Eisner.”

“Are you just going to flirt or are you going to continue with your so-called 'master plan', Reigan?” Lorenz muttered mutinously, nose in the air.

“Just because you have a fetish for authority doesn’t mean I do, Lorenz,” Claude shot back, and the entire group erupted into a cacophony of disgust.

“Ewww, I didn’t want to think about that!” Hilda squawked as Marianne averted her eyes with a rosy blush on her cheeks. Lysithea made a show of dry retching into the grass.

Lorenz, realising his error in challenging Claude when already on his back-foot, attempted damage control with a barely concealed panic: “I will tolerate you taking charge temporarily, but slander I will not! I would _never_ have a fetish for anything as integral to my role as a noble as that, rather I prefer-“

* * *

“What the fuck is going off over there?” Felix grumbled as the area where the Golden Deer were having their scrum continued to screech and yell, a head of purple hair in the centre of the mess being tackled to the floor by several people at once.

“Alliance debating bliss,” Sylvain replied with absolute certainty.

* * *

“Alright,” Claude began from his perch on Lorenz’s back, Hilda and Leonie sitting on Lorenz’s arms and legs respectively to stop him from being able to continue his impassioned speech, “crisis averted. Now back to business. Raph, chuck us the map, will you?”

“Yup, no problem, here you go,” Raphael assented, placing the requested item in front of Claude as the latter cracked his knuckles in preparation.

“Ta. Knowing Edelgard and Hubert, I think that they’re likely to target our healer first, so we’re going to make sure that Marianne stays in cover so she can’t be sniped." Claude tapped at an area scribbled in with green with tree symbols within, presumably marking out a forest. "Mari, you said you know Nosferatu, right?”

“Y-yes?”

“Don’t worry about healing until we’ve taken out Hubert and Petra, just focus on keeping yourself up using Nosferatu if anyone catches you.”

“But… healing is all I’m good for…I don’t want to be a burden for you all.”

“You’re not,” Claude insisted. “You’re the only person here who can even use white magic.”

“Yeah! People who don’t appreciate medics are dumb, that’s what my brother always says,” Hilda nodded.

“I can’t understand a word of that magic stuff, so being able to do it at all is awesome as far as I’m concerned!” Raphael added.

“O-oh… thank you, everyone…” Marianne twiddled with the ends of her hair. “I’ll try my best.”

“That’s the spirit!” Claude flipped the parchment over to reveal a technical drawing of what appeared to be some kind of barbed wooden barricade. “Leo, Raph, how long do you reckon it would take you two to construct this?”

Both considered the diagram, Lorenz making a strangled protest into the dirt as Leonie leant awkwardly on his legs to get a better look. “Do we get tools for this?” Leonie inquired, tapping a finger to her chin in contemplation.

“Yeah, I’m not a monster.” Claude pulled a hand saw, mallet and a collection of iron nails out of seemingly nowhere and handed them to Leonie.

“Well, I don’t know about Leo, but I think I could build this in about fifteen minutes,” Raphael quoted, and Leonie nodded in agreement.

“If we split tasks so Raph is cutting and I’m building, we might be able to trim it to ten.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea! Got to use these muscles for something.” With that decided, the saw was passed from Leonie to Raphael.

“I’ll help too,” Byleth offered, but Leonie shook her head.

“You’ll help by not going within ten feet of the thing. Your powers of destruction are too powerful. You kick Felix’s ass; I’ll come and find you after me and Raph are done with this.”

Byleth pouted. “Fine.”

“‘Powers of destruction’? What?” Hilda asked disbelievingly, face leant on her fist. Byleth, not liking where the discussion was leading, attempted to deflect:

“Aren’t we planning a battle here?”

“By’s right, but in short; it’s a miracle she hasn’t accidentally ripped her bedroom door off its hinges yet.”

“You can’t leave it at that!” Hilda and Claude had first bonded over a common fondness - gossip. She was not well acquainted with Byleth, the woman being adept at avoiding people, but Hilda knew that any gossip she could squeeze out of the ex-mercenary could be traded with Claude for... 'favours'.

If anyone asked, Hanneman having to mysteriously vacate to the little boy's room just before he was about to request his assigned homework from the class was just a happy coincidence. Serendipitous, even.

“Oh, she can,” Byleth growled, her abnormally sharp canines on show, and Hilda shrunk back instinctively, making Lorenz yelp as she put too much weight onto his wrists. Leonie could understand the shock of her housemates to the face that Byleth was pulling; she may have gotten used to the way that Byleth would occasionally pull an expression so demonic it could make a wyvern cry, never mind the fact that the most of the time her face may as well be an elaborate mask, but it didn’t mean anyone else had.

Claude laughed in the face of danger, as per usual. “Oh, ignore her. Her bark’s worse than her bite.”

Leonie quirked her head, cropped hair flopping to the side. “When’s By ever bitten you?”

“We’re not going to talk about it.” Byleth may have, totally accidentally, bitten Claude’s fingers when he jokingly hand-fed her a miniature black pudding he’d smuggled from the kitchens during the bonfire the night she had arrived. Not that anyone could prove anything.

Leonie stood up with a dumbfounded look to her face and Lorenz wept in relief as blood began pumping to his feet again. “What? _What?!_ ”

“Wow, kinky,” Hilda joked, and chaos broke out again.

* * *

“If they are going to be continue, I think not we need to worry about defeating Deer before they defeat self,” Petra observed as a flash of magic exploded, leaving the lingering scent of corrosion and burnt hair in the air.

“How very pertinent for the representatives of the Leicester Alliance,” Hubert sneered.

* * *

“I hate all of you!” Lysithea wailed, magic still crackling in her hand. _“Disgusting!”_

“Goddess, no, not _another_ one, I want to keep my eyebrows!” Lorenz yelped, having gotten back to his feet, the rose in his lapel smouldering and reeking of burnt paper.

“Woah… I can see so many colours… So pretty…” Raphael bumbled, eyes unfocused, before he fell backwards onto his back, drooling.

“Raph? Raph, are you alright?” Ignatz panicked, slapping Raphael’s cheeks lightly in the hope of getting a response.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m fine, don’t you worry, sis…”

“Sis- Raph, I’m not Maya! Stay with me!”

Byleth observed the situation pensively before delivering her verdict: “we’re fucked.”

“Such confidence,” Claude sighed as Marianne began tending to a zonked Raphael. The parchment that had contained the map had been reduced to charred scraps, leaving Claude to play with an arrow due to a lack of having anything else to do.

“Nope, you two are banned from speaking to each other,” Leonie commanded, eyebrow twitching. “Both of those incidents started from something you two were saying.”

“So, I’m not allowed to flirt with your sister then, is what you’re saying?”

“She’s not my sister,” Byleth and Leonie both blurted concurrently before Leonie continued. “Also yes. Don’t flirt with By unless there’s a stained glass window around and I’m also there to watch.”

“Once! I did that _once_!”

“You did what once?”

“No! Don’t talk to her! Lysithea is being fucking scary! _Stop!_ ”

Byleth and Claude became immediately aware of Lysithea shadowing the conversation, fingers stained black with dark magic, stormy faced except for a twitching cheek threatening to turn into a sadistic grin. For a girl not even five foot tall, she was, as Leonie had succinctly summarised, ‘ _fucking scary_ ’. A rider of the apocalypse would have shrunk back from the girl if they were sensible.

The rest of the battle planning scrum passed in a more calm and meek fashion under the stare of a pissy and highly dangerous fifteen-year-old girl. _Funny how all of them think she’s scarier than you despite your reputation,_ Sothis snorted.

 _They’re right,_ Byleth thought back.

* * *

“Attention!” Seteth bellowed over the unruly crowd of students plus Byleth, now all gathered in the middle of a verdant valley approximately a mile to the east of the monastery, a rare interlude in the steep rocky inclines that categorised Garreg Mach. In front of the crowd were the faculty, Manuela yawning as her stilettos sunk slowly into the grass, Rhea and Hanneman watching Manuela lean backwards at an ever greater angle wordlessly. The sun had just passed its zenith, and clouds of an ominous grey were congregating above, threatening a soaking to any unfortunate to be underneath. The weather had been wonderful the week before, so the heavens must be now starting their penance.

Typical it had to be today, though.

Rhea clapped her hands to eliminate the last few murmurings of the crowd and began to speak. “Greetings, everyone. As I am sure most of you are already aware, I am Archbishop Rhea."

“Oh, shit, it was Rhea, not Rose,” a voice realised in the crowd a mite too loudly. Rhea elected to ignore it.

“I will now explain the rules of the matriculation battle. Firstly, this is not a fight to the death, so only blunted training weapons will be provided. Additionally, the only offensive magic permitted is the lowest tier, and if you attempt a more powerful spell you will automatically be disqualified. We will be observing you at all times.”

A significant look was given to Lysithea, who was surrounded by her slightly scorched housemates.

“We now shall give out pendants, which have multiple purposes.” Rhea revealed a simple green cabochon brooch approximately the size of a coin. “Their purpose is to indicate if you have been defeated. Hanneman, if you would?”

“Certainly.” Hanneman clicked his fingers and the pendant was immolated in a lick of unnaturally yellow fire. As the flames dissipated, the pendant was revealed to have changed in colour from green to an angry shade of neon red.

“When the wearer of this pendant takes damage, no matter where on the body, the pendant will change colour from green to yellow to red, after which the gem inset will shatter. Once your pendant has shattered,” Rhea jabbed the pendant with an astonishing amount of force and as the surface cracked a sharp whistling scream ripped from it, loud enough to make those closest to the front's ears ring, “you are considered ‘dead’ and will be removed from the battlefield.”

Edelgard raised her hand and Rhea nodded for her to speak. “Removed how?”

“There are bishops on stand-by to use Rescue. You will be warped to a no-fight zone. They will also tend to your injuries; you have no need to fear for your life.”

The last statement appeared to be aimed at a girl with a dandelion puff of violet hair standing in the Black Eagle cluster, who began figuratively foaming at the mouth in panic at the words, eyes darting to unsympathetic friends.

Claude piped up next: “do the pendants have a standardised set amount of damage they can tolerate or do they account for differences between people?”

“They have a set tolerance, but we have adjusted the tolerances for different combatant types, which are split into mage, marital fighter and knight. Mage pendants have less endurance overall, but are resistant to magic damage. Knight pendants are more durable, but are weaker to magic damage. Marital fighter pendants are in-between. We have pre-assigned each type of pendant for each person based on our observations over the last few weeks.”

Dimitri, this time: “do we know which pendant type we will each be assigned?”

“We will inform each individual of their pendant’s class. It is up to them to inform others. Any more questions about the pendants?” Silence. “Wonderful. As this is a three way battle, we have assigned each house their own starting point, as is shown here.” A map that was eerily similar to the one that Claude had produced earlier was revealed, drawn out on a huge length of canvas sprawled out over a wooden frame, the details visible even from the back of the back of the crowd. The only differences between this map and Claude's was the scale and the lack of annotation.

“Did you-“ Hilda hissed, but was interrupted by a sharp elbow to the ribs from Claude. If that wasn’t a confirmation of guilt, nothing was. Thankfully, the faculty were too busy going over the map to notice Hilda wheeze and hack.

“Woah, you really did get your map smack on!” Raphael stage whispered, making the more perceptive members of the Deer groan. Claude thought better about elbowing Blond Man Mountain and simply raised a finger to his lips and shhh’d.

“Don’t talk whilst Rhea’s talking! It’s rude.”

“Oh, right, sorry!” Raphael made a zipping motion across his mouth.

Byleth didn’t notice any of the proceedings of the previous fifteen minutes as she was too busy dozing off, the words of the lecture reducing to a buzz as she gazed sightlessly into the sky, the damp static of the thickening drizzle prickling her cheeks pleasantly.

She wouldn’t have realised what Claude had done even if she was lucid.

Receiving a good slap to the face an indeterminate amount of time later, she crashed back down to reality to see that everyone other than the Golden Deer had vacated the area, Leonie with one hand outstretched and Ignatz with a surprised look to his face.

Byleth sneezed and blinked rain from her eyes rapidly before speaking: “yes? What’s up?”

“Time to get ready to fight. Here.” Leonie, in a manner of a mother dealing with an unruly toddler, pinned a green pendant to Byleth’s overcoat and shoved a wooden sword into her hands.

Byleth looked down at the pendant bovinely. “What’s this?”

Leonie sucked air through her teeth. “What’s the last thing you remember hearing?”

“Uh," Byleth scratched behind her ear apologetically, "‘greetings everyone’?”

Disbelieving silence.

“Wow, I think Byleth could sleep in the mouth of a dragon,” Ignatz marvelled once it became readily apparent that Byleth was not joking.

“Is that a good thing?” Hilda said, pinning her own pendant to her shirt in a huff and leaning back onto her wooden axe. She hated rain; it made her make-up run and her hair frizzy.

Ignatz hummed, contrite. “It was less of a compliment or insult and more a neutral observation.”

“Well, _I’m_ not explaining everything to her, ugh. Someone else do it.”

“I shall do it then,” Lorenz offered, before continuing to do as he said he would without any sort of agreement from anyone, keeping a keen eye on Byleth’s face to make sure she was paying attention this time as he gave a condensed version of the talk she should’ve already known the contents of.

“So, this is a martial fighter pendant, then, right?” Byleth summarised, looking at many reflections of herself in the shining surface of the cabochon and the droplets of water accumulating on its surface, seeing many blank-faced Byleths staring back at her.

“No, actually. We swapped yours and Lysithea’s pendants, so the one you have is a mage pendant,” Claude revealed with a wry grin on his face. “I’ve seen you fight. I doubt you’re going to be hit all that much.” _Oh, that **has** to be against the rules, surely,_ Sothis exclaimed, but nobody, not even Lorenz, had anything to say about the fact. Trust Claude to sniff out the loophole.

Byleth raised an eyebrow, but otherwise held a neutral expression. “You can see the scars, right?” she asked dryly, pointing at the puckered slash bisecting her top lip and the gouge cleaving her right cheek.

“Kinda hard to miss them. But, you know, I get a feeling there’s a story about the ones on your face.” _Smarmy little twat. There’s no way you could know about that._

“Maybe there is, but you don’t get to hear it.” Byleth glanced at a now twitchy Leonie briefly, but quickly returned her focus to Claude, who was pouting.

“Awww, boo. You’re lucky we’re in a rush. You remember the plan, yeah?”

“Beat up Felix, meet up with Leo after she and Raph finish the barricades then go beat up Hubert if he’s not already out. Cause a scene and distract everyone. Stab stab stab.” She made a shanking motion with her wooden sword as she spoke.

“You got it, boss!”

“Also, while I have you here… Claude?”

“Yeah?”

“My aim’s gotten a lot better with the swords.” Byleth had a small, almost imperceptible smile on her face. “Just thought I’d let you know.” _You go digging into that particular part of my past for answers you're not privy to and they’ll find you face down floating in the river, got it?_

“Wow, really? I’ll have to see it some time, haha!” _Got it, ma’am. If I do go digging, I’ll make sure not to get caught._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I am so sorry for the delay on this one! I busted the space bar on my keyboard so writing has been kind of painful; TBH, it's still busted and I really oughta get it fixed. Regardless! This chapter was originally going to contain the matriculation battle, but considering how long it took me to get this ready with my gammy space bar I figured I'd split it.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to every awful group project I've ever been involved in. I ain't saying that I've got the moral high ground for group projects because then me and my executive dysfunction would be lying; at least when it's only me working on something I'm only dragging myself down :/
> 
> On feedback from all you lovely commenters (\\(^3^)/ ♡) I have decided to alter the tags for this to specify & relationships between Byleth and Leonie and Byleth and Sothis, since the sisterly relationships I've written for them seem to have been a hit for a bunch of people. If anyone else can think up some other canon tags that are appropriate to add on feel free to give me a bell; I've never been good at stuff like this.
> 
> Also, completely unrelated to this story, I finally graduated from university! You're now reading the writing of a Master of Geology in Geology! Yes, that's my actual degree title. I somehow got a 1st on my master's thesis which was a very nice surprise (I got a 2:1 overall, though). If you ask me about rocks I will cry. I don't know what a rock is.
> 
> EDIT 10/10/20: Hey gang! So my laptop completely fucking died a couple of days ago (F in comments plz) and unfortunately everything I've written for the next chapter has probably been lost; me and my dad are currently trying to salvage the data from me busted 'puter and inject it into my new laptop, but since the data may or may not have been corrupted I'm not sure if I'll be able to get it back. So, uh, ain't sure when the next chapter will be out since it's seeming likely I'm gonna have to start it from scratch. Remember to back up your computers, kids! Since I no longer have a shitty space bar to worry about now though, I've gone ahead and reworded this chapter a little, so it should read better now. Hopefully. :v
> 
> On a less sour note, thanks everyone for 500+ hits! Sure, I ain't in the Ao3 big leagues (I'm in the league where it's just local pubs playing against each other if I'm being perfectly honest) but like, it means a lot to me.


End file.
